


Year Two

by SeeEmRunning



Series: Sam at Hogwarts [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Chamber of Secrets, Crossover, Early manifestation of demon powers, Gen, Second year, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeEmRunning/pseuds/SeeEmRunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's second year at Hogwarts is more eventful than his first. There are students getting Petrified, and with a bumblingly incompetent Defense teacher, the other teachers turn to the most experienced hunter in the school: Sam Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer

**Author's Note:**

> This marks 50,454 words written in the past ten days. The amusing thing is that I've tried to do NaNo five years running and failed every time.
> 
> I am planning to continue well into Sam's adulthood, so yes, there will be more in the series.
> 
> Once more, some of the dialogue is taken directly from the book.
> 
> There's some minor OOC!Hermione in the Dueling Club, though it can also be read as her messing up the spell on accident.

"Down!" one of the women yelled. Sam dropped without thought, hearing a shotgun go off above his head. He got back up and kept shoveling.

Lianne dropped into the hole beside him with a shovel of her own. "C'mon, Sam, how long does it take to dig a grave?" she teased, teeth flashing bright in the darkness.

He spat grave dirt out of his mouth, laughed breathlessly, and said, "Too long, I guess."

"Got that right. You ever had a spook show up this early?"

"Nope." They were barely three feet down into the grave, with three feet to go. It was a baby's bones, or Sam would have been fine standing, but such a small ghost meant if he hadn't dropped he would've gotten his head peppered with rock salt. "You?"

"No."

"Less talking, more shoveling," Christina ordered from above them. They got back to work, flinging the dirt into the growing pile at the foot of the grave. The shotgun went off three more times, shaking the teeth in their heads, before the shovels thunked against the wood of the coffin. Lianne gave him a leg up out of the grave; he took the shotgun from Christina, who gave Lianne a hand up when she was done breaking open the coffin. The two of them shook out the salt and gasoline - Sam had to shoot twice more in that time - before Lianne lit the rag on fire, gave it a beat to let it catch, and dropped it into the grave. The baby's bones went up.

"So," Christina said, warming her hands over the fire. "Tomorrow we drive to London, get you school supplies, crash."

"It's the end of August already?" Sam said in disbelief. "Where did the summer go?"

"Mm," Lianne said. "Let's think."

"Let's save the reminiscing for tomorrow night," Christina said. "We'll get wine and ice cream and hope for next summer, too."

Sam grinned. "If you'll have me, next summer sounds good."

"Course we want you," Lianne said. "Having a kid along's helpful when the police get involved."

"Oh, so I'm your decoy," Sam said.

"Exactly," the two chorused, sharing a smile. Christina kissed the corner of Lianne's mouth.

Sam shook his head, laughing a little. This was so amazingly different from how hunting had been with his family. With John and Dean, it was dark rooms, whiskey, and sewing each other up. Both of their focuses had been on revenge. Both of them had viewed Sam with a mx of suspicion and fear.

With Lianne and Christina, it wasn't like that. Sam could count on one hand the number of injuries any of them had gotten, and none of them had been severe enough to need a trip to a hospital. They were in this to help people first; revenge didn't even appear to cross their minds. Lianne had been raised in the life, much like Sam had, but unlike Sam's father, her parents had been raised in it, too. They weren't in it to avenge anyone, and so _she_ wasn't in it to avenge anyone. More importantly to Sam, both of them trusted him to have their backs and not go 'darkside', as Dean had once put it. They knew what he was, and they _trusted_ him.

It was a nice change from having to hide part of himself from everybody he knew.  
***  
They made it to London around one the next day. Sam led them into the Leaky Cauldron, warning them to keep their eyes closed until he told them it was okay. He wasn't sure how the charm worked, but he'd seen enough Muggle-borns in Diagon Alley with their parents the year before to know they could get inside.

When they were inside, Lianne said, "Invisible buildings. May wonders never cease."

Christina grinned at her, then looked at Sam. "Where to now?"

"This way," Sam said, leading them to the brickway separating the inn from the street. He tapped the brick that opened the archway and the three of them stepped inside. Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the neatly-folded piece of paper on which was written his supply list. The money that had been included remained in his pocket.

"Where to first?" Lianne asked.

"Uh...bookstore," he said.

"Great. Lead the way."

They got a few half-interested looks from passersby, probably for their exceptionally Muggle clothing, but by and large they were ignored. Flourish and Blotts had most of his books in the bargain bin. Compared to last year, his supply list this time was tiny - the only thing he was required to buy were the entire collected works of Gilderoy Lockhart and _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2,_ all of which he got used. He also restocked his potion ingredients, and he was done.

"That was easy," Lianne said.

"How about a movie?" Christina suggested. "There's a new Batman out."

Sam remembered dressing up as Batman and breaking his arm when he was little. Batman was inexplicably tied to his memories of Dean, and even thinking about it hurt, but Lianne was nodding. "That one looked good," she said. "Sam?"

He couldn't make them change for him. "Sure," he said, plastering a smile on his face.  
***  
They got back to the room after the movie, dinner, and a trip to the grocery store. Sam busied himself with the salt lines while Lianne and Christina unpacked, and then Christina poured them all strawberry wine. "One glass," she said to Sam.

"Okay," he said easily. Their hangups about alcohol were new to him, too - John had certainly never worried about giving him a couple shots of whiskey to anesthetize him for stitches, or just to get him easier to control, or maybe because it didn't even register on his radar of 'things not to give kids'.

He shook off the thoughts. He hadn't seen his family in over a year; he _really_ needed to get over them.

"So," Lianne said after a sip, "before we get to the fun part, there's something we need to discuss with you."

Sam put his own cup down - it sounded serious. "What's up?"

Christina looked awkward. "Well, it's, erm - soon, your body's going to start…changing."

"Is this the sex talk?" Sam asked warily.

They both looked relieved. "You've already had it?"

"Not really, but I've got an older brother."

"Oh thank God," Christina said, slumping.

"There's still some things you should know," Lianne said firmly.

It was the most humiliating half hour of Sam's summer, and was probably only topped n his entire life by the time his clothes had been literally torn off him by a vengeful spirit and he'd had to go back to the car completely naked. Dean had made fun of him for _months._

At the end of it, Christina said, "Remember, you have any questions, go to the nurse or mail us. Don't listen to the boys your age, they don't know what they're talking about."

"Or questions about orientation," Lianne said.

"Right. Come to us with any of that. If this is going to become a permanent arrangement, you have to be comfortable with us."

Sam blinked. "Orientation?"

"Oh Jesus," Lianne muttered. "Yeah. Gay, straight, bi, ace, whatever-"

"Ace?" Sam interrupted.

"Asexual," Christina clarified. "Not sexually attracted to people."

"That's a _thing?_ "

"Yeah, Sam. It's a thing. You haven't figured it out by now?" Lianne and Christina smiled fondly at each other.

"Oh. Oh! Uh, no, I just - I don't know," he muttered.

The women cackled. "You're so red right now," Christina said, which only made him flush deeper.

"Okay." Lianne poured herself another glass of wine and reached back to get a bottle of root beer, which she pushed over to Sam. "Sex stuff over, on to reminiscing. Remember the occamy?"

Christina groaned. "How could I forget?"

That had been Sam's first hunt with them, when they were still wary of each other and of how this partnership would work. They hadn't known what they were hunting at first, only that there had been a sharp increase in deaths and cattle mutilations. It had taken them a day and a half to figure out, with Sam in the library researching local lore and the women interviewing witnesses. They'd armed up the day after they got into town and gone into the woods, searching for a chimera, and had instead been turned back by a snake with legs. It had taken Sam feverish hunting through _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ to remember where he'd heard that description before. Occamy were only native to the Far East and India, which meant an idiot wizard had imported it and then let it loose. _Beasts_ didn't tell them how to kill it, so they'd taken a variety of weapons along with them the next night: safety flares, machetes for decapitation, silver and iron knives, and the shotguns, which they hoped would at least slow it down.

It had been difficult, but between the three of them they managed to behead the thing. They also learned occamy were fireproof when the flare washed off its hide like water off a duck's back.

That hunt had proven his skill to Lianne and Christina and theirs to him, and they had begun to trust each other more. There was no bond like the one that came from saving each other's lives repeatedly.

"What was next, the old lady ghost?" Sam asked. "Or was it the, uh, runespoor?"

"Runespoor, I think," Christina said. "A nest of three-headed snakes is something I never want to see again."

"The purple was pretty," Lianne said.

Sam snorted. "Only you would think _fire_ is _pretty._ "

"Shut it, you," she said, smacking the back of his head lightly. "I still remember the ghouls getting the drop on you."

Sam shuddered. The ghouls had been a mutation that were no longer content to feed off the dead and had instead turned to the living. One had gotten a good bite in on his shoulder before he'd even realized it was behind him.

"I remember the electric thing getting a good bite on you," he reminded her. 

"Ugh. I still don't know what that was. Why would a seashell have crab legs?"

Two weeks before, they'd been attracted by a rash of power outages and destroyed electronics. They'd found a small creature, maybe a foot in length, that ate the electricity. Unsure if it worked alone, they tracked it back to its nest before killing it by cutting it in half and burning the remains. It had gotten Lianne's calf in the confusion.

 _"Then_ it was the old lady ghost," Christina said. "Kept asking where all the cabbage went, remember?"

Rose Tyler had died in her sleep at eighty-two and gone about her day, apparently unaware she'd even died. She hadn't yet gotten to the point of being vengeful, and Sam had served as a distraction until Lianne and Christina could dig up the grave. She'd told him that he reminded her of her grandsons, and told him to hide the cabbage before the dog found it because the dog hated lettuce.

They kept talking about hunts, laughing well into the night, before they finally went to bed.  
***  
Sam woke to the smell of pancakes. He sat up with a yawn and saw Lianne by the stove in the little kitchenette. "Morning, sleepyhead," she said, voice low.

"Morning," he answered, getting out of bed quietly. He showered and dressed quickly in the small bathroom; when he emerged, he saw Christina still asleep. Lianne was walking over to her, probably to wake her up; it was coming up on eight in the morning, and the pancakes were sitting on a plate on the counter. The pan she'd used to cook them was next to the plate, washed but not yet dried. After he put his clothes back in his duffle, Sam found a dishcloth and did the task himself.

Breakfast was quiet, as was the drive to the train station. Lianne and Christina both hugged him tightly before he left them; he returned the hugs just as fiercely. He would miss them, he was sure.

"There's always next summer," Christina told him. That there would only be a 'next summer' if both of them survived the next nine months went unmentioned; all of them knew that in reality, this could be both their first and last time saying goodbye. "Write if you need anything, or want to tell us something."

"See you in July," Lianne added. 

Sam smiled at them both, words failing him, and walked away, into the train station and onto the train. He found a compartment near the front of the train and was shortly joined by Millie, Theo, Blaise, and Pansy. They spent the ride talking about their summers: Millie had gotten a cat, Blaise's little brother Marco had done his first bit of accidental magic to everyone's delight, and Pansy's nieces and nephews had begged her to hover their toys all over the nursery. Sam volunteered the minimum information, and nobody pressed, respecting his need to keep some things to himself.

They'd barely finished hearing about Theo's uncle going out in a witch's robes because he'd lost a bet when the compartment door slid open, revealing Hermione. "Sorry," she said, biting her lip, "but have any of you seen Harry or Ron?"

"They're not on the train?" Sam asked.

"I haven't seen them. Ron's brothers and I have been looking everywhere for them, and after what happened last year…."

She trailed off, looking worried. Pansy jumped in with, "Whatever Potter's gotten himself into, he probably deserved it."

"He's _twelve_ , Pansy," Sam said. "Hermione, are you sure he got on the train?"

"No," she admitted.

"I'll help you do a sweep," Sam said, standing. "If we don't find them, they probably missed it and their parents will have called the school by now. I'll be back in a little bit," he added to his friends, all of whom looked surprised.

He and Hermione started at the front of the train and worked their way back methodically. They met the older Weasleys halfway down the long line of carriages. "They're not back here," one of the twins said, sounding frustrated.

"They're not up front, either," Hermione said.

"Did you get here late?" Sam asked. "They may have missed the train completely."

The redhead with a badge on his chest - Percy, Sam remembered after a moment's thought - said, "It's not your concern."

"Don't speak to him like that," Hermione snapped.

"It's fine, Hermione," Sam said coolly. He met Percy's eyes squarely. "Missing students are more important than their egos. Did you get here late?"

"Yes," the redheaded girl said.

"Did any of you see them get on the train?"

They looked at each other.

"I'll take that as a no," Sam said. "If they're not on the train, they missed the train, which means someone's probably contacting the school as we speak."

"How do _you_ know?" one of the twins asked, looking at him like he was dirt on a shoe.

"It makes more sense than them climbing on the roof of the train," he said sarcastically. "They're not in the cars, so they're not here, so someone's parents _know_ they're not here. I know it's hard not to panic when your brother's involved, but they're probably fine."

"Who says we panicked?" Percy demanded.

"Did any of you consider the possibility they missed the train?" Sam asked. When nobody answered, he said, " _That's_ how I know you panicked."

He went back to the car with his friends in it, and they spent a very enjoyable few hours playing Exploding Snap and Gobstones and talking. When the food cart came by, Blaise bought enough to feed an army and shared the candy freely. By the time they reached Hogwarts, Sam had relaxed back into the rhythm of the group and had mentally reset himself for a year of school instead of more months of hunting. Joining the throng in the narrow hallway between the cars, he and his friends kept talking, ignoring Hagrid calling for the first-years and following the older students instead. They went down a broad path that ended in a large circle. There were carriages waiting for them to enter, drawn by black horses with bats' wings.

Sam offered one of them his hand to sniff; it lipped gently at his palm, and he scratched behind its ears.

"Sam!" Pansy snapped, pausing on the step. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you guys to get in," he said.

"No, I mean - with your hands."

Sam frowned at her. "Petting the horse."

Pansy's face went grey. "There's nothing there, Sam."

"What are you talking about? It's black and it's got wings, of _course_ it's here."

"There's nothing there," Pansy repeated.

Sam blinked at her, then at the horse. "You really can't see it?"

The horse, apparently unimpressed by him stilling his hands, butted his chest with its head. Sam resumed scratching it.

"There's nothing there to see. Blaise!" she called. "Is there anything pulling the carriages?"

Blaise poked his head out the window. "Of course not."

"Is this a joke?" Sam demanded, stomach dropping.

"No. It's not. Come on, Sam, get in the carriage," Pansy said, her eyes huge with fear.

Sam swallowed and followed her inside. What was going on? It was _there._ It was huge and solid, and his hand was still wet from the horse's mouth.

He was still mulling it over when the Sorting began with Snape absent from the teachers' table. He reappeared briefly directly after the Sorting, to pull away McGonagall and Dumbledore, and whispers started. Sam heard something about a flying car, but was too deep in his own head to pay it any attention. Was the horse real? If it was, why couldn't anyone else see it? If it wasn't, why was _he_ seeing it? Was he cracking up? Had his family been right about him - was he a danger to everyone around him?

He barely ate, too consumed with worry. His friends didn't try to draw him out; Pansy and Blaise were still regarding him worriedly, and the others picked up on that, though they didn't seem to know the reason. He didn't even notice Dumbledore reminding them of the rules, though he did realize they hadn't sung the school song when Pansy nudged him to get up. He trailed along behind everyone, still puzzling over the horse.

His dreams that night were strange. Dumbledore's bird made a few appearances, as did a snake. When he woke the next morning, it was to a vague sense of uneasy dread and a splitting headache.


	2. Gilderoy Lockhart

Breakfast on their first day of classes began as it usually did. Sam had buried his worry beneath a carefully-constructed veneer of apathy and kept up a steady conversation with his friends. When the mail came, however, something unusual happened: a woman's voice overpowered all conversation in the hall.

"STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU! I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE, LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED, ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED! YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LIE WE'LL BRING YOU **_STRAIGHT BACK HOME!_** "

Silence fell. They'd actually _flown a car to school_ last night? And been seen by Muggles? And they hadn't been expelled or suspended?

"Do rules even apply to Gryffindors?" he asked Blaise quietly.

He snorted. "Jury's out on that one."

Snape came around, handing out their class schedules, and Sam glanced down at it. "History first thing," Theo said in disbelief. "How are we going to stay awake, then?"

"Binns doesn't care if we sleep," Millie said practically.

Following History of Magic with the Ravenclaws was Charms, also with Ravenclaws. Flitwick smiled broadly when he called Sam's name, and Sam smiled back. Flitwick had helped him learn a half dozen shield charms the year before, and Sam had quickly gained a healthy respect for the diminutive professor's dueling and teaching skills. 

Each student was given a glass of water and attempted to freeze it. Sam's first attempt froze it so quickly the glass exploded from the sudden pressure. Flitwick fixed it with a wave of his wand; Sam smiled sheepishly and tried again, visualizing the spell leaving his wand more slowly. It froze bottom-up in seconds, this time taking long enough that the glass was preserved. Flitwick nodded in approval, and Sam turned to help Theo, who had somehow managed to make his water blue and heat it to boiling.

Lunch was followed by Herbology, yet another class they shared with the Ravenclaws. They worked on repotting Mandrakes, a restorative plant that could kill with their cry. They all had to wear earmuffs to keep themselves from dying, and Sam ended up with a fluffy pink pair. Blaise and Theo, who had managed to grab the less-fluffy sets, made fun of him all the way back to the castle. Sam took their teasing good-humoredly and got in a few digs of his own.

They had a free period before dinner, which most of them chose to use to shower off the dirt of Herbology and begin work on homework. All of them but Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle settled in at the same table as they had last year and worked on their history essay.

The day wasn't over with dinner: they had to go to Astronomy, held in the highest tower at midnight. They smothered yawns as they reviewed star charts before stumbling down to the dungeons and tumbling into bed.

Thursday morning began with double Transfiguration, a class they shared with Hufflepuffs. They were each given a beetle and told to change it into a button. Sam's first few attempts had legs and skittered around the desk until Sam figured out how to trap it in a small area with his books and parchment. By the end of the class, all of them but Crabbe and Goyle had successfully transfigured their beetles, and Sam and Millie got into a competition over who could make the largest, most ostentatious button. Millie's final attempt was bright pink striped with lime green and as large as Sam's hand; Sam's was bright green plaid with blue bows all around the outside. Blaise, Theo, and Pansy declared it a tie. McGonagall allowed the competition, likely because the only ones involved could demonstrate the spell to her.

Their second class of the day, held after lunch, was also a double period: Potions with the Gryffindors. Snape hadn't softened toward Harry since school had ended the year before, and Sam found himself not caring. Harry got away with more than anyone else would, and Snape's treatment wasn't going to kill him.

After Potions, while his friends settled into the common room for a game, Sam made up a story about going to the library and went to find Professor Flitwick. He knew he should technically go to Snape, but the thought of doing that was laughable. Sam could list a dozen ways to kill a dozen creatures off the top of his head, but going to Snape because he was potentially going insane scared him to death.

He found Professor Flitwick in his office and asked, "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course," he squeaked. "Come in. What can I do for you?"

Sam closed the door behind him and sat. He swallowed hard. "I - um - I wanted to know if - if the carriages, you know, the ones that come up to the school from the train station, are they, uh, are they pulled by anything?"

Sam stared at his hands, fisted in his lap, and missed Flitwick's smile. "Yes, they are. They're called thestrals. I take it you can see them?"

"Yes," Sam said, relaxing slowly. "Why can't anyone else?"

"Thestrals can only be seen by people who have seen death," Flitwick explained. "Your classmates haven't seen anyone die, but you have."

Relief crashed over him. "So I'm not going crazy?"

"No, you're not."

"Thank you," Sam said, standing up.

"Anytime, Sam."

He stopped by the library on his way back to the common room, grabbing a book of defensive spells to cover for his earlier lie. He spent the evening with his friends learning how to conjure smoke to obscure movements.

On Friday morning, Marcus Flint, a sixth-year, found Draco and spoke to him in a corner of the common room. When he left, Draco looked unbearably smug and boasted about becoming Seeker on the Quidditch team. They congratulated him, but by the time breakfast was over his bragging was getting old. Sam reminded him that Madam Hooch had had to correct how he sat on a broom the year before, and Draco turned bright red and _finally_ shut up. Theo grinned at him, and warmth filled his chest.

Friday afternoon was their first Defense class, another one shared with the Hufflepuffs. They'd heard talk of Lockhart releasing a cage full of Cornish pixies and fleeing the scene, leaving the Gryffindors to stuff them back inside, but until they had their first class, they weren't sure how much truth to ascribe to that particular bit of rumor.

The first thing Lockhart did was give them a test on their books. Sam had skimmed through some of them, but unlike the last year, he hadn't had time over the summer to read them fully. Given their titles, he had assumed he could count on his own experience hunting to carry him through the test.

That assumption lasted right up until he read the first question: _What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?_

Sam blinked at his paper in confusion but jotted a guess anyway. The next question, _What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_ , made him realize Lockhart was quizzing them on trivia to see if they'd read the books.

Question 3, _What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_ , couldn't possibly have a wrong answer. He wrote down _Being hired at Hogwarts_ , mostly because Sam himself had faced werewolves and banshees and it didn't seem like a stretch to think Lockhart would find them easier to manage than Sam himself did.

The test was three pages long and concluded with _54\. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?_

They were given half an hour to finish, time Sam spent guessing. Partway through the test he gave up on the thought that Lockhart wanted to see if they'd read the books in favor of assuming he was just an egomaniac. The rumor about the pixies may well be true, if that was the case.

Lockhart collected the tests, paged through them, and heaved a dramatic sigh. "Well! I can see some of you didn't read my books properly. None of you know that my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market a range of hair-care products, and only two people remembered my favorite color is lilac. I say that right out in _Year with the Yeti._ "

Sam glanced to his sides. Draco, Millie, Blaise, and Pansy were looking at Lockhart disbelievingly, so it wasn't just Sam that was surprised by how self-centered Lockhart was. Lockhart continued to scold them for 'not reading the books' for another twenty minutes before launching into a lecture on Cornish pixies.

When they were released, all of the Slytherins - including Crabbe and Goyle - stared at each other in mute astonishment.

"That was," Blaise said at last, "the most _useless_ test I have ever taken."

Sam had had to memorize the fourteen watersheds of Virginia and the twenty-three linking verbs for a fourth-grade test once and even he had to agree.


	3. The Writing on the Wall

October came wet and cold. The flu made the rounds, as it always seemed to at the beginning of winter. Sam would have suffered through, just as he always did, but Blaise dragged him up to the nurse after a night where he couldn't stop sneezing and forced him to take some. It pained him to admit, but he felt much better after he took the medicine. He had to see her twice more in the same month; the cold just kept coming back to him, and one of his friends kept dragging him up. On one occasion they saw the Weasley girl there with one of her older brothers; when she left, steam pouring from her ears, she almost looked like she was on fire.

Sam looked up a charm to keep him dry and applied it, paying special attention to his shoes and socks. Between that, the warming charm, and the light charm, he could run every morning in relative comfort. Fang, Hagrid's dog, ran up to him a few times over the course of the month, often rolling over with his tongue lolling out so Sam would scratch his belly. It was simultaneously the dumbest and most adorable thing Sam had ever seen.

They moved on in their classes. By Halloween, Sam could turn birds into goblets, perform tickling and skurge charms, knew exactly how not to handle puffapods, and had learned more about Gilderoy Lockhart than he'd ever wanted to. He had also lengthened his morning runs and begun including strength exercises, doing chin-ups in the early morning using the shower bar and push-ups when he was done with his run. For almost all of October, Sam was content.

Then came Halloween, and the first attack.

The day began and proceeded normally until late into the night. The feast was fantastic, as it always was, but they were barely out of the Great Hall when they heard screams. Sam and his friends pelted up the stairs, pushing past others who were trying to gawk, and burst into the middle of the hall. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in the open space they'd stumbled into, all of their faces grey.

There was something small and furry hanging from a torch bracket, but Sam's eyes were drawn to what was written on the wall: **THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.**

Draco screamed out, "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" Sam glanced over and saw his face was alive with malice, face flushed red, a rictus grin on his face. He looked almost possessed; Sam was tempted to mutter 'Christo' for the fun of it but refrained. That would give away his status for sure.

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Filch demanded, pushing through the crowd. Sam stepped out of his way, then had to prop him up when the man fell back. "My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he cried.

Sam looked at the furry thing again, and yes, that was Filch's cat, tied to the bracket by the tail.

 _"You!"_ he screamed, spit flying from his mouth as he stared at Harry. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll-"

"Argus."

Dumbledore walked past the three students in the nearly-empty middle of the hallway to detach the cat from the bracket. "Come with me, Argus. You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger. And I think we'd better have someone else come...Mr. Winchester?"

Sam swallowed and stepped forward nervously. Lockhart did the same at the other side of the space, though he was much more eager: "My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free."

"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said. Sam followed him through the crowd and up to Lockhart's office, which was covered in portraits of himself. Lockhart lit candles and stood against the wall as the portraits ran out of their frames to hide the curlers in their hair. The other three students sat down, but Sam settled into a rest stance and put a hand on the knife in his waistband, trying to ignore Filch's sobbing. He felt for the man, but he couldn't do anything for him. He focused on the teachers.

Dumbledore spent a few minutes examining Mrs. Norris, during which time Lockhart was babbling, "It was definitely a curse that killed her, probably the Transmogrification Torture. I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her." Dumbledore began tapping the cat with his wand. Lockhart continued, "I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou, a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography. I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once-"

"She's not dead, Argus," Dumbledore said. Lockhart's mouth snapped shut, twisting peculiarly. If Sam was inclined to give him credit, he'd say the man had realized he'd painted himself into a corner and made himself look like an idiot.

"Not dead?" Filch repeated. "But why's she all - all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified-"

"Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart brightly. Nobody in the room acknowledged him.

"-but how, I cannot say."

"Ask him!" Filch cried, pointing to Harry.

"No second year could have done this. It would take dark magic of the most advanced-"

"He did it, he did it!" Filch was turning purple. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found - in my office - he knows I'm a - I'm a - he knows I'm a Squib!"

"I never _touched_ Mrs. Norris!" Harry cried. "And I don't even know what a Squib _is._ "

"Rubbish! He saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," Snape said, breaking his silence. Heads swiveled to him. "Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween Feast?"

The three other students fell over themselves, words tumbling into each other and away, something about a deathday party and hundreds of ghosts.

Snape spoke over them, and they fell silent. "But why not join the feast afterward? Why go up to that corridor?"

"Because - because -" Harry spluttered, and then a look that Sam knew well flitted over his face. It was the expression of someone who had just come up with a lie to explain himself. "Because we were tired and wanted to go to bed."

Sam rubbed his eyes. Somebody needed to teach that boy how to lie; it physically pained him to hear that weak an excuse.

Snape found it suspicious, too, it was clear. "Without any supper? I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."

"We weren't hungry," Ron said. His stomach betrayed the lie, growling loudly in the silence.

"I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful. It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest."

"Are you joking?" Sam said, at the same time McGonagall protested, "Really, Severus, I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong."

Sam was angry for another reason. They didn't know what had caused the cat to become Petrified; for all they knew, this was the first in a series of attacks. And Snape cared about _Quidditch_ more than he cared about protecting the school?

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," Dumbledore said.

"My cat has been Petrified!" Filch yelled. "I want to see some _punishment!_ "

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," Dumbledore said. "Professor Sprout has recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."

Interesting that he didn't mention Snape at all in that sentence, Sam thought. Like he was trying to downplay his Potions master's skills.

"I'll make it," Lockhart said excitedly. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep-"

"Excuse me, but I believe I am the Potions master at this school," Snape said coldly. He eyed Lockhart with dislike bordering on hatred. Sam gripped the knife tighter, readying himself to intervene.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione, you may go," Dumbledore said, breaking the silence. "Sam, remain a moment."

When the three of them were gone, Dumbledore asked him, "Thoughts?"

"Harry was lying," Sam said instantly. "Couldn't even come up with a decent lie, either, which means he didn't think of a cover story. He didn't hurt Mrs. Norris."

"He knows something," Snape said tightly. "We have to know what."

"He's a child," McGonagall said curtly. "He's probably afraid. He'll come forward when enough time's passed for this to fade from mind."

"So you think this was isolated?" Sam asked.

"You don't?" McGonagall asked sharply.

Sam nibbled his bottom lip, thinking through his answer before he said carefully, "If it is, I'll be grateful. But think about it. Why attack a cat, unless it was to make people afraid? And what was written on the wall - 'Enemies of the Heir, beware.' I don't think whatever's happening has really started yet."

McGonagall nodded once. "Well-reasoned."

"You already knew," he accused.

"Yes," she said, a sliver of a smile on her face, "but I wanted to see how you got there."

"If you are done," Snape said tersely, "perhaps we should examine the corridor."

"May I see the cat first?" Sam asked. 

Dumbledore swept his arm forward, but warned, "Do not touch."

Sam leaned over, examining the cat. Its eyes were open, pupils mere slits in yellow irises.

He hadn't gotten any further down when Lockhart said, "Sorry. Why are we indulging him?"

"He's a hunter," Snape said bluntly. 

Sam felt, more than saw, Lockhart recoil. "A-"

"Hunter, yes." Sam glanced up at him with cool amusement. "Pupils are shrunken." He pulled out his knife and pressed the blade flat against the fur, which didn't move under the pressure. "Fur's Petrified, too, so whatever it is works on nonliving parts of the body," he said, sheathing his knife. "Is it a spell?"

"No spell that I know works on all parts of a creature," Dumbledore said, looking old.

"Nor are there any potions capable of this," Snape added.

"So it's creature-based," Sam said. Snape and Dumbledore both nodded in confirmation. "And that's why you wanted me here?"

"Now wait a minute!" Lockhart said. "I am the Defense professor, and I-"

"Have far less hunting experience than young Mr. Winchester here," McGonagall interrupted irritably.

"How long have you been hunting, then?" Lockhart asked sarcastically. "A month, maybe two?"

"Four years," Sam said coldly. "Last Halloween I killed a mountain troll with a four-inch knife. Going by your own books, you have the same amount of time with far fewer kills."

"Severus," Dumbledore said, "if you would make sure there are no more gawkers in the corridor?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Snape said, giving Lockhart - who was now purple with indignation - a look of disgust. He swept out of the room.

Mr. Filch was still crying in the corner, and Sam felt a twinge of pity. "We'll find it, Mr. Filch," Sam told him. "Mrs. Norris will be fine."

Filch gave no sign of hearing him, but Dumbledore's lips twitched in a smile. While they waited for Snape to announce the all-clear, Sam looked at the cat again.

"Her paws are wet," he said suddenly. "Halfway to the ankle. Was there standing water in the hallway?"

"The bathroom flooded," McGonagall said.

Snape returned. "The last of the stragglers have been cleared out," he said.

"Then let us return," Dumbledore said.

Sam noticed Lockhart stayed at the opposite side of the group from him. From the smirks the other teachers were exchanging, it was clear that they, too, had noticed. For himself, Sam was a little chagrined. He'd known, and Fudge had confirmed when they'd first met Lianne and Christina, that wizards were wary around hunters at absolute _best_. At Hogwarts, he was insulated from the worst of it; his teachers didn't treat him differently, and with the exception of Hermione and her friends, none of the students knew. For his Defense teacher to suddenly want to be as far away as possible was off-putting, and added more credence to his pet theory that Lockhart was a moron and his books were almost entirely fictional.

They reached the hallway. Sam spelled his shoes with the waterproofing charm he used every morning and stepped up close to the writing. Snape joined him. "It's blood," Snape said shortly.

"Human?" Lockhart asked, sounding repulsed.

Snape tapped the wall with his wand and muttered something Sam couldn't hear. A cloud of smoke puffed out, taking the form of a chicken before it dissolved. "Chicken blood," he said. "I believe Hagrid has been losing roosters, has he not?"

Sam filed that away for future reference and moved on. "Have any of you heard of the Chamber of Secrets?" He'd heard the phrase before, but he couldn't for the life of him remember where.

"It's supposedly a secret chamber Salazar Slytherin hid in the school at the time of its building," Snape said. "According to legend, there's a monster inside that will awake and attack the unworthy."

"And nobody's ever found it?"

"It was supposedly opened fifty years ago," McGonagall said, "but the culprit was found to be an acromantula brought in by an erstwhile student."

Acromantula - _giant spider_ , Sam thought. "Could it be an acromantula this time?"

"Acromantula do not Petrify their prey," McGonagall said.

"Enemies of the Heir probably refers to the Heir of Slytherin," Snape said. "The last of the bloodline."

"So this isn't over yet," Lockhart said weakly. "Beware. This has just started."

Sam's mind kicked into overdrive. "And we don't know who the next target is - who did Slytherin think unworthy?" he asked Snape.

"Muggle-borns," Dumbledore said.

Sam winced. He, Hermione, Dean Thomas, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Lisa Turpin, Sally-Anne Perks, and Mandy Brocklehurst - seven of the twenty-six students in Sam's class -were Muggle-borns. If the ratio held true across other classes…. "That's about a third of the school, isn't it?"

"Yes," McGonagall said grimly.

Sam rubbed his eyes, thinking. If this thing, whatever it was, escalated, they were looking at a death toll in the dozens. For a school with less than two hundred students, it would be devastating. The school would shut down.

Sam dropped his hand when that thought occurred to him. "Is there anyone with a grudge against the school?" he asked.

"Why?" McGonagall asked.

"If enough attacks happen, Hogwarts will have to shut down," Sam said. "It won't be safe. People will pull their kids left, right, and center. Mrs. Norris was Petrified, not killed, which would probably have been easier to achieve. All it would take was a shoe and a sicko. But Petrifying her was meant to scare. If whatever it is moves on to humans, other students will be hurt, and parents will lose their faith."

"The political ramifications of this attack alone might destroy this school," Snape said. It didn't surprise Sam in the slightest that Snape had come to the same conclusion. "You know it, Albus. It will take some cunning in dealing with the Ministry to keep them from sending an inspection team, or replacing you as Headmaster. You know there's talk of you losing your touch."

Sam blinked, surprised Snape had revealed so much in front of a student. McGonagall was, too, from the way she glancing between the two of them.

Sam chose to step away from the wall and enter the bathroom. Whatever Dumbledore thought of the politics, it wouldn't affect the hunt. He could feel himself settling in to the rhythm of it, senses attuned to anything out of place. The stone just outside the bathroom was minutely lighter than that around it; kneeling down and brushing a hand over the wet stone, he found it had been scraped clean.

"It's heavy, whatever it is," he said.

"Why do you say that?" McGonagall asked, standing in front of him.

Sam rubbed a finger over the stone next to the door and held it up. "The stone here's almost completely clean," he said. "It's heavy and it rubs when it moves. The water's washed away any pattern, so it's up for debate whether there's fur or feathers or scales." He stood and paced a few yards down the hallway. "Scorch marks," he said. "Here, and here. Either it can use fire, or it had help."

"I'm inclined to think it had help," Snape said.

"Creatures usually don't have the intelligence to write in English," Sam agreed. He looked at the window and frowned. "Spiders," he said. "They don't usually go outside in this weather."

"So spiders, chicken blood, water, fire, and inside help. Wonderful," McGonagall said bleakly.

"It's the fire that's getting me," Sam said. "Why? Unless they wanted to get rid of the water and used a fire spell."

Snape shook his head. "They would use a Vanishing Spell, in that case."

"Unless they didn't know it," Sam pointed out. "What year is that taught?"

"Fifth," McGonagall said grimly. "But some people don't master it until their sixth, if at all. The inside help is either young or a very bad student."

"Or someone who wishes us to think they are," Snape pointed out.

McGonagall glared. "That seems less likely."

"Why?" Snape asked, faintly sarcastically.

Sam was forgotten in the ensuing argument. He didn't care about motive as much as he cared about figuring out what the creature was. That would usually lead a hunter to the controller, in his experience; more than once he'd been hunting a coven with his family and they'd let the witches go unchecked until they could find the thing they'd been using to punish people they disliked. The thing had let them right to the coven, and had dissolved when the last witch was dead.

He pushed open the door to the girl's bathroom, ignoring the OUT OF ORDER sign. He could hear splashing from a faucet and turned off the tap. There was a snake engraved on it, and he filed that away, in case it was important. The mirror, cracked and spotted with filth, looked like it had last been cleaned during World War II. The candles on the walls flickered like they were on the verge of going out; the wooden stall doors were cracked and aged, one hanging off a single hinge. He could hear quiet crying from a stall. "Hello?" he called.

The stall door creaked open, and a ghost of a girl about his age peeked out. "You can't be in here," she said. "You're a boy."

"I know," he said, stepping forward. His shoes splashed in the water. "But there was an attack outside this bathroom tonight."

She sniffled. "An attack?"

"That's right. A cat was hurt, and there's blood on the walls." He didn't mention that the blood wasn't the cat's, figuring she'd be more upset over a pet being hurt than a rooster. "Did you hear anything? Or see anything?"

She sniffled again. "No."

"What's your name?" Sam asked, deciding to try another tack.

"M-Myrtle." She ventured out of the stall. Sam saw the Hufflepuff insignia on her robes. "What's yours?"

"I'm Sam," he said. "Are you sure you didn't see or hear anything?"

Her eyes filled with tears again. "My life was nothing but misery at this place! Why should I tell you?"

"Because you can help people," Sam said. "You're a Hufflepuff, right? Hufflepuffs care about people. The thing is, we don't think this is isolated. We think this is the first in a string, and it might be a person who gets hurt next time. Please, Myrtle. You could help us keep people from being hurt."

She sniffled. "I could?"

"Yeah, Myrtle, you could," Sam said gently.

She shuddered a breath - did ghosts even need to breathe, or was it a reflex action? - and said, "I wasn't here when it happened."

"You weren't?" Sam carefully masked his disappointment.

"No. I was at the Deathday Party, until Peeves came in, and he upset me so much I came back to try to kill myself, except I'm - I'm-" She burst into tears again.

"I'm sorry," Sam said sympathetically. He really did feel for her; when he'd been with his family, he'd wondered more than once if being sloppy on a hunt would be better for everyone. That didn't change the fact that she might be able to help them. "I can keep Peeves from coming in here, if you'd like," he offered. "It would at least give you a place to come without worrying about him."

Myrtle sniffed. "R-Really? You can do that?"

"Yeah, I can do that," he assured her. "I've helped people with poltergeists loads of times. It's just a hex bag in the four corners of the room. Easy. I can come back tomorrow, after classes."

Myrtle looked hopeful. "And he won't be able to get in?"

"No, he won't," Sam said.

"Thank you," Myrtle said.

"It's really not a problem," Sam said. "I'm sorry to ask this, but - was the water running when you came back, or did you turn it on?"

"It was running," she said.

"Was it running when you left?" Sam asked. She shook her head. Sam tamped down his mounting excitement. "Thanks, Myrtle," he said. "You've been a lot of help."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yeah, Myrtle. Really," Sam reassured her. "I need to go talk to the teachers about the sink, but I'll be back tomorrow with the hex bags.

She squealed, did a flip, and said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Sam promised.

He rejoined the teachers and said tiredly, "The bathroom's involved somehow. The water wasn't running when Myrtle left, but it was when she got back."

Lockhart blinked at him. "Someone turned it on," he said dismissively. "That doesn't prove-"

"It's Myrtle's bathroom," Sam said, cutting him off. "And what are the odds a girl passing by was so desperate she used the one with a suicidal ghost when there's one the next hall over?"

"Myrtle is a bit...dramatic," McGonagall hedged. "I'm surprised she talked to you."

"I promised to come back with hex bags tomorrow, keep Peeves from bothering her," Sam said tiredly.

Dumbledore frowned at him. "Peeves has the run of this castle-" he began.

"And Myrtle should have a place where he won't pick on her," Sam interrupted. "The only person who ever goes in there is Myrtle herself. She should have a _little_ peace in the afterlife, don't you think? Besides, it's likely the bathroom's involved, which means she's going to see something eventually. We need her willing to talk to us, and if something as simple as putting hex bags in there will make her feel better, Peeves can deal with eighty square feet out of hundreds of thousands being off-limits. You said I couldn't hu- hu- hunt the poltergeist. You never said I couldn't protect people from him." The yawn kept him from sounding as firm as he would have liked, but he was the youngest of them all by at least twenty years. The only reason he was here was because none of them but Lockhart had ever been on a hunt, and Lockhart was an idiot. He couldn't fool himself into thinking he had much sway over their decisions.

"He has a point," Snape said. 

"This is all just speculation," Lockhart said, chuckling. "We don't even know if there will _be_ another attack."

"I must contact the Ministry," Dumbledore said. "We are not to tell the students anything. We will try to investigate this with as little panic as possible. Severus, if you would escort Sam back to his dormitory? There will be a staff meeting before breakfast tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Headmaster," Snape said. With one last sneer at Lockhart, he turned. Sam smiled wanly at the other adults and followed, wrapped up in his own thoughts. No matter how he turned the pieces, he couldn't make them fit. Chickens, spiders, fire, water, bathrooms, Petrification. Nothing he'd encountered had such an eclectic range of effects.

When he got back to the common room, it was almost three in the morning. The Slytherins had long since gone to sleep. Sam took his kit into the bathroom and made four hex bags, sealing them with his own blood to give them extra power. 

He took them to Myrtle's bathroom instead of running the next day. Filch let him by with a miserable nod. Myrtle was nowhere to be seen, which Sam was quietly thankful for - he'd gotten three hours of sleep, and if she was as dramatic in the early morning as she was late at night, he would lose his temper and flush their only chance of help down the toilet. They couldn't afford that.

Over the next few days, all the students could talk about was the attack. Sam's friends pressed him for details; all Sam would say was that Dumbledore had wanted another perspective on finding the scene, and Sam had been the unlucky one to be singled out. In his spare time, he looked up creatures in the library, trying to find anything that mentioned even two of the five criteria. He had discounted the bathroom as important, since he had no reason to think it was relevant to the type of creature it was.

On November second, he climbed to the Astronomy Tower with his mother's picture and talked to it quietly after dinner. It was the only place he was almost guaranteed privacy. He told her about the hunt, about Lianne and Christina and how he wished she could know them, about school in general. The next morning, he went to the Owlery and sent Lianne a letter asking if she'd ever heard of something that could cause students to turn to living rock.

There were rumors of Harry being the Heir of Slytherin, a rumor roundly laughed at in the Slytherin common room. The other houses seemed more willing to at least consider the idea, though some people pointed their fingers at Malfoy, who preened at the idea even though he had no idea who it was and loudly proclaimed at every opportunity he wished he could give the Heir a hand. Sam threw a pillow at him to make him shut up more than once and seriously debated looking up a spell to keep him from speaking.

A response from Lianne came a week later, telling him they'd never heard of anything like that but would ask around carefully. She also admonished him for not writing sooner. He sent a reply back that night with one of the school owls, thanking them for their help and asking about any hunts they'd been on lately.

He spent the Saturday of the first Quidditch match of the year - Gryffindor versus Slytherin _again_ \- in the library, looking up creatures and doing classwork at the same time. He skipped lunch, working steadily through _Deadly Animals of the Eastern Hemisphere_ , but went down to dinner when his stomach complained loudly enough that Pince gave him a dirty look.

His friends told him about the game and how Harry had had a Bludger after him the whole time. The Bludger broke the bones in his arm, and Lockhart had removed them. Draco poked at his food, surly when the others gave him a hard time about not seeing the Snitch on top of his head. "Because it matches his hair," Theo joked.

Sam went back to the library after dinner, claiming he needed another foot for Binns' essay on the International Warlock Convention of 1218 and the mass murder of its Sardinian subcommittee. He also had to write a poem about Lockhart's defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf, the very idea of which repulsed him, for a chance to win a signed copy of Lockhart's autobiography, which also repulsed him at this point. By this point, he was almost positive Lockhart had never been on a real hunt in his life.

Snape shook him awake late that night out of a nightmare involving rivers of blood and giant pillars carved with snakes. "There's been another attack," he said quietly. "Get dressed."

"Who?" Sam whispered, climbing out of bed. Pain in his head spiked and receded to a manageable level of throbbing.

Snape didn't appear to hear him before he left, closing the door quietly behind him. Sam dressed silently, leaving his shoes and socks off until he got to the common room, and felt the pain trickle away slowly. His watch said it was coming up on three in the morning. He sat on a chair across from Snape and asked, "Who was it?"

"Colin Creevey. He's a first-year Gryffindor."

"Petrified?" Sam asked hopefully. The alternative was that he'd been killed. Sam had investigated murders before, even murders of kids. He'd seen eviscerations by rougarou, hearts ripped from chests by werewolves, decapitations by rawheads. He'd seen people ripped apart and crushed into tiny balls and strewn around highways. For a moment, his nostrils filled with the smell of blood, his eyes with the sight of the hundreds of dead he'd seen. The common room vanished around him.

Snape was talking, and he wasn't the kind of person to be ignored. Sam grabbed that with all his might and forced himself back to the present. Snape had drawn a chair over in front of him and was talking softly, gripping his arms. When he saw Sam was back, he released him. "All right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam said, breathing heavily. When had he started doing that? "Sorry, I just - I don't know _what_ that was."

"Hmph." Snape leaned back, giving him some space.

"Was he Petrified?" Sam asked again, dragging a foot up to his knee to tie his shoelaces with shaking hands.

"Yes. Albus and Minerva are waiting to move him until we return. We think he was trying to sneak in to the hospital wing to visit Harry Potter."

Sam nodded and tied his other shoe. When he was done, Snape led him out and up the main staircase to the flight between the second and third floors. Dumbledore was wearing a purple wool robe, McGonagall a thinner one made of plaid flannel. Between them lay a first-year Sam vaguely recognized as one that called out to Harry every time they passed each other in the hallways. There was a camera in his hands, posed as if he was about to take a picture, and a bunch of grapes beside him. Despite the late hour, the candles were lit. There was a larger ball of light directly above the other teachers, throwing the scene into sharp relief and chasing away the shadows.

Sam knelt and felt his hair and cheek with the flat of his knife- they were the same stiffness. He looked down the rest of his body and saw something unusual. "His legs are together," Sam said with a frown.

"What?" McGonagall asked irritably.

"His legs," Sam repeated. "It means he was facing the other way when he heard something, so he turned around. Otherwise he'd have his feet on different steps. Was he facing up when you found him?"

"No," Dumbledore said. "We turned him over."

The boy's head was lower than his feet, so he been facing down when he'd fallen. "He was going upstairs," Sam said. "What was he doing down here? Gryffindor Tower is on the seventh floor - why did he go past the infirmary and double back?"

"The kitchens are in the dungeons," McGonagall said. "We've already questioned a cook - he was well when he left them."

"So the creature was below him," Sam said, going down the stairs. "On the same floor as Myrtle's bathroom."

There was a window on the landing. Sam saw movement and looked closer. "The spiders are leaving again," he called up.

"We'll take him to the hospital wing," Dumbledore said. "Severus, would you like to come with us or go with Sam?"

Sam had been planning to talk to Myrtle again, but Dumbledore's quick dismissal irked him. Had Dumbledore known, or had he just assumed he knew Sam well enough to know what he would do?"

"I'll stay with Winchester," Snape said brusquely.

"Minerva? If you would get his feet?" Dumbledore asked her. Snape descended to join Sam as the other two ascended for the hospital wing.

When they had closed the door to the second floor behind them, Sam asked, "Why didn't they hover him?"

"It would be unwise to apply magic to somebody when we're unsure what caused the Petrification," Snape answered. They reached the bathroom, and Snape leaned against the wall. "I dislike Myrtle," he explained. "If you need help, shout."

Sam nodded and entered. "Myrtle?" he called.

She peered out at him from her stall. "Sam!" she said.

"Hello, Myrtle," he said kindly. "How are you?"

"Better than before," she said. "Thank you for keeping Peeves out."

"Of course," Sam said. "I'd drive him from the castle if I was allowed." He gestured to the running faucet. "Did you turn that on?"

"No. Why? Is it important?"

He turned it off. It was the sink with the snake engraving again. "There's been another attack," he said. "A student this time. He's eleven."

"Oh, no!" Myrtle wailed.

"Did you see anything? Or hear anything?"

"No!" she cried, starting to sob. "I - Peeves was - I went to the Great Hall earlier, for company, you know, and - and Peeves, and I've been crying in the U-bend since!"

"That's okay, Myrtle," Sam said. "You couldn't have known."

"I'll watch better," she promised a little desperately through her sobs. "I promise."

"It's okay," Sam said gently. "It's not your fault. You're not the one hurting people."

His reassurance was in vain; Myrtle wailed again and plunged back into the toilet. Sam left the bathroom wearily. "She didn't see or hear anything," he told Snape. "But the same faucet was running as last time, and there's a snake engraved on it. It's probably related."

Snape straightened off the wall and pushed his lank hair out of his face. "Show me," he ordered.

Sam led him to the bathroom and pointed to the tap. Snape tilted his head, considering, and then said, "Severus Snape, the Head of Slytherin House, being of the noble House of Prince, descendants of Salazar Slytherin, demands the Chamber open."

Nothing happened.

"Stand back," Snape ordered Sam, drawing his wand. Sam stepped back hastily as Snape ran through a series of spells that hammered against the sink but damaged nothing.

"Maybe a blood sacrifice," Sam suggested when Snape dropped his wand. He pulled the knife and rolled up his sleeve.

Snape gripped the hand holding the knife. "You are _not_ cutting yourself," he said firmly.

"Why not?" Sam asked. 

"You are a student. Give me the knife." Snape took it from him and rolled up his own sleeve. "And we _will_ be talking about the scars already there."

Sam looked down at them. "Standard practice. Iron, silver, and bronze knives to prove to other hunters that you're human."

"Is that so." Snape made a shallow slice and tilted his arm so the blood would run into the sink. Nothing happened; he cleaned the knife and the sink with a spell, and healed the cut with another. "Does that hold true even for the children?"

Sam took the knife back. "It is. Without it, we could go on a hunt with someone who's been replaced by a shifter or skinwalker or revenant and not know until it's too late. Or Da- _John_ could have come back to the motel room, when we were too young to hunt, and found out both of us had been replaced when we attacked him somewhere."

Snape shook his head. "Come on. Let's get to the hospital wing."

Sam followed him up the stairs, hiding a series of yawns. He'd gotten to bed late, and it really was early in the morning. 

Dumbledore and McGonagall were waiting for them in front of the hospital wing. "Anything?" McGonagall asked hopelessly.

"There's a sink in there that's been running both times there's been an attack," Sam said. "Myrtle didn't see anything."

"I tried the standard opening and unsealing spells and a blood sacrifice," Snape said. "No reaction. Anything on the boy's camera?"

"The inside was melted," Dumbledore said. "Whatever it is, it burns plastic. The Chamber is, indeed, open again."

"I thought you said last time was an acromantula," Sam said sharply.

"That is the official story," Dumbledore said. "I have no proof the acromantula _wasn't_ responsible for those attacks, and so the matter was closed."

"Who opened it last time?" Sam asked.

"Someone who could not possibly have gotten in again."

"Why not?" Sam asked.

"Because he's dead."

They were in a castle full of ghosts and Dumbledore thought death would stop somebody? It didn't make sense to Sam, but he knew better than to press. He'd spent enough time with his father to know the look of somebody unwilling to entertain questions.

Sam opted for a different subject. "People are going to know there's been another attack," he said. "Is the plan to continue with secrecy, or is it changing to reassuring them you have it under control?"

"I'll tell them at breakfast," Dumbledore said. "For now, Sam, go back to your dormitory. Your friends will think it odd if you're not there when you wake up."

Sam didn't bother correcting him, instead turning away to do as instructed. Knowing he wouldn't sleep, he didn't go back to bed, instead strapping a second knife and his Taurus to his body before he went on his run. He had a lot of anger to work off.


	4. The Dueling Club

Sam wasn't surprised when Dumbledore didn't follow through on telling them about Colin at breakfast the next morning. Word had spread fast, and by Monday, everyone knew. Sam wondered if Dumbledore even realized he was losing the battle for students' regard by refusing to share any information or reassure them that he had it under control. John had done that to Sam all the time, kept him in the dark and refused to explain anything, and all it had done was turn Sam against him. Dumbledore seemed to be looking at his students like soldiers more than children, controlling the flow of information as much as he was able.

The problem with that was that it led to some truly ridiculous things. A newly-flourishing trade in protective amulets sprung up. Amethysts, half-rotted newt tails, foul-smelling onions, and horned amulets were traded and sold with a vengeance. Sam stayed clear of them, preferring instead to keep his gun and two knives on him at all times.

The second week of December, a prefect came around with a list of people staying. Sam, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle all put their names down, though few others did; most people couldn't wait to leave. There was a knot of seventh-years staying behind, likely to study for NEWTs, and Sam did his best to stay out of his way. There was a look of cruelty in some of their eyes that he didn't like.

Thursday afternoon's Potions class had some excitement. Draco flicked pufferfish eyes at Harry and Ron; Sam rolled his eyes at Theo, who mimicked punching Draco in the back of the head. Draco was so busy laughing he didn't even notice.

Partway through the class, Goyle's potion exploded. Draco, who had been working next to him, got hit with a faceful; Sam had covered his head with his arms when he heard the splash, but that meant it was his arms that swelled. They dropped to hang by his sides of their own volition. His right leg had also been hit, and it grew to such a size his other foot barely reached the ground.

"Silence! SILENCE!" Snape bellowed. "Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft - when I find out who did this-"

Malfoy ran forward, desperate to be the first in line. His nose had swollen to the size of a cantaloupe. Sam dragged himself forward with his one good leg. Millie, whose right arm was also swollen, helped get him to Snape's desk. Sam was second in line when he saw Hermione come out of Snape's storeroom.

When they were all back to normal, Snape fished a firework out of Goyle's cauldron. The air stilled, everyone almost afraid to even breathe. "If I ever find out who threw this," Snape breathed, looking at Harry, "I shall _make sure_ that person is expelled."

That night, talk in the common room was focused on who had thrown the firework. Even students in other years joined in, amazed at the gumption one of the second-years had and completely disgusted by how they'd chosen to use it. Goyle was absolute crap at potions; they could just as easily have been hit with poison. Nobody was mean enough to say it to Goyle's face, but from the look of him, he knew.

A week later, a notice was pinned in their common room: a dueling club was being started. "What do you think?" Millie asked him.

"It could be interesting," Sam said. 

And so, just before eight o'clock on the first Tuesday of December, they put away their essays and went up to the Great Hall, which had had the tables removed and replaced by a stage. Who was teaching had been a subject of great speculation; Sam hoped it was Flitwick, who had been a dueling champion when he was younger. Several students had been rooting for Lockhart, others for McGonagall. An ambitious few told people it would probably be Dumbledore. 

Sam and the rest of the second-year Slytherins joined the cluster of students around the stage just as Lockhart swept in dramatically, plum robes billowing around him. Snape followed less ostentatiously, but no less noticeably. Lockhart waved an arm and called, "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can everyone hear me? Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions. For full details, see my published works."

"Could he be more self-centered?" Sam muttered to Blaise. "We already have full copies of his books, it's not like we're going to get multiple copies."

Blaise grinned and whispered back, "This is the guy that offered autographs for poems. He has no shame."

Lockhart was still talking. "Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry! You'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear." Snape sneered, probably at the idea that Lockhart could possibly best him in a duel.

Something pressed against Sam's back, and he turned around. A small Hufflepuff, who had clearly been trying to get up to the stage, looked up at him, eyes round and terrified. Sam took a step away and gestured for him to move forward; the boy was short enough Sam would be able to see over him without a problem. His friends looked at him shrewdly but said nothing.

The two men faced each other. Lockhart bowed; Snape jerked his head sideways. They raised their wands, and Lockhart called, "As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position. On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"Shame," Millie whispered to Theo. "Wouldn't mind Lockhart getting taken out."

Sam grinned, and Lockhart started counting. On three, Snape rapped out, _"Expelliarmus!"_ Lockhart flew back off the stage and hit the wall.

Several of the students, not all Slytherins, cheered openly. Others looked worried. Most of the crowd just looked amused.

Lockhart stood unsteadily and made his way back to the stage. "Well, there you have it! That was a Disarming Charm. As you see, I've lost my wand - ah, thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…." He trailed off, perhaps because Snape's glare promised certain death if Lockhart continued. He cleared his throat and called, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me?"

Sam turned to partner with Millie, but Snape got there first. He pushed Hermione over; she smiled tentatively, but Millie set her jaw aggressively, still sore over the loss of the House Cup the year before in which Hermione had played an integral role. Sam turned to pair with Theo, only to find him already set with Blaise. Draco was with Harry, so even if he'd wanted to partner with him he couldn't. Sam looked at Pansy and quirked an eyebrow, and she shrugged and joined him. Crabbe and Goyle faced each other.

"Face your partners!" Lockhart called. "And bow!"

Sam and Pansy bowed and then straightened.

"Wands at the ready!" Lockhart yelled. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents. Only to disarm them, we don't want any accidents. One - two - three -"

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Sam called, pointing his wand at Pansy. He felt the spell balloon through him and force itself through his wand in a narrow streamer. Something else - Pansy's spell, possibly - coiled weakly around his wrist and fell away. Pansy's wand went soaring through the air.

"I said disarm only!" Lockhart screeched, and Sam looked around wildly. Draco was on his knees, laughing madly, while Harry danced a jig. Ron was propping up Seamus, apologizing, and both Neville and Justin Finch-Fletchley were on the floor.

"Stop! Stop!" Lockhart screamed. He was overpowered by Snape roaring, " _Finite Incantatem!_ " 

Harry stopped dancing, Draco stopped laughing, and clouds of green smoke cleared the hall. Millie had an arm around Hermione's throat. Sam hurried over to pull her off, wondering what Hermione had done to provoke that response from his normally even-tempered friend. Harry joined him a second later, prying Millie off the smaller girl. Sam grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. "What happened?" he asked lowly.

"She hit me with something," Millie growled, showing him her hands. Red, ropelike burns twined up and around them. "It's all over me."

Sam frowned over at Hermione, who was crying a little bit. Before he could say anything else, Lockhart called, "I think I'd better teach you how to _block_ unfriendly spells. Let's have a volunteer pair - Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you-"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," Snape said, voice loaded with derision. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Sam winced. Neville was absolute crap at spells, but that didn't mean he deserved Snape's scorn. "How about Malfoy and Potter?"

"Excellent idea!" Lockhart said brightly.

"Bloody hell," Theo whispered as a space cleared in the middle of the hall.

"They're going to kill each other," Blaise agreed.

Sam shook his head. "Lockhart won't let Harry get killed, and Snape won't let Harry hurt Draco," he said quietly. "And if someone gets killed, the school gets shut down."

Lockhart and Snape whispered instructions to Harry and Draco, then stood back. Lockhart yelled, "Three - two - one - go!"

 _"Serpensortia!"_ Draco yelled. A king cobra blew out of his wand, landing heavily on the floor. It raised itself up, sides fully extended, preparing to strike.

"Don't move, Potter," Snape ordered. "I'll get rid of it."

"Allow me!" Lockhart said. He jabbed at the snake, which flew ten feet into the air and hit the floor with a thud. It turned to face Justin, and Sam had his wand out and was whispering a barrier spell Flitwick had taught him before his mind fully comprehended what was happening.

Harry made a strangling sort of hissing noise, and the snake turned to face him. The entire hall fell silent until Justin yelled, "What do you think you're playing at?" and ran outside.

Snape waved his wand, vanishing the snake in a cloud of black smoke, and looked at Harry calculatingly. Whispers started up in the crowd, and Ron grabbed Harry's sleeve and pulled him out of the Great Hall.

Sam turned to his friends, expecting them to be as confused as he was, and instead found them staring at each other, mouths open. He cleared his throat, and when they didn't react, he said, "Someone want to explain what that's about?"

"Harry Potter is a Parselmouth," Pansy said disbelievingly.

"A what?" Sam asked blankly.

"He can talk to snakes," Millie said.

"So?"

"So, that's powerfully dark magic," Blaise said. "Maybe he _is_ the Heir of Slytherin."

"Because he can talk to snakes?" Sam felt completely out of the loop now.

"Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth," Pansy said. "It's why our mascot is a serpent."  
***  
Sam spent the first twenty minutes of the next morning's History of Magic puzzling over the attacks. He'd gone through almost the entire section of creature books. For a few minutes, he'd thought they were hunting a basilisk, but there were a few problems with that: it didn't Petrify, it outright killed, and there was no way a snake that size could get through the castle without being seen, no matter how carefully it chose times and targets to attack. The only things that _did_ fit were the dead roosters and the spiders running. Fire, water, and Petrification weren't mentioned, and only matching two of the five criteria wasn't enough for Sam to entertain that theory. Even if it _was_ the closest match he'd found so far, it wasn't close _enough._

That had been nearly three weeks ago, and Sam still hadn't found anything better. He was down to two books he had yet to read, and he had very little hope he would find the answer in them.

Sinistra knocked on the door and stuck his head in. "Can I borrow Sam Winchester, Professor Binns?" she asked cheerfully.

Sam's stomach dropped. The only reason a teacher would come for him was if there'd been another attack. He was shoving his parchment into his bag before Binns' vague dismissal.

"Who was it this time?" he asked Sinistra when they were in the corridor.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly-Headless Nick."

"Isn't that a ghost?"

"Yes." She picked up the pace.

They got to the corridor, the end of which was guarded by Flitwick. Harry and McGonagall stood in the middle, next to a body on the floor and a ghost that wasn't moving. Flitwick gestured to him to pass, but asked for a word with Sinistra.

Sam reached Justin. McGonagall told him, "They haven't been moved. Three classes are in the hallway this hour, and nobody saw anything."

"Are there still students in the classrooms?"

"No. We've sent them down to the Great Hall."

Sam knelt down. "Same discoloration on the floor," he said. "Same creature. Did either of you see spiders?"

"No," both of them chorused, though Harry looked slightly surprised.

"I take it you found the body?" Sam asked Harry.

Harry winced. "I found Justin and Nick."

Sam nodded. "You're always here somehow."

"I didn't do this!" Harry spat.

"I didn't say you did," Sam snapped back, not in the mood to deal with his attitude. "Life would be easier if you didn't twist what people say." He tracked the discoloration of the floor. "It came from that way," he said, pointing to the dead-end. "Is there a passageway hidden somewhere?"

"Not as far as I'm aware," McGonagall said.

"Fred and George might know," Harry offered.

"I will ask them," McGonagall said. "Winchester, is there anything new here?"

"Not that I can see," Sam said helplessly. "Clean stone and a Petrification. The only thing is, this time there are two. It affected a ghost, which means it's Petrifying the soul, too."

"Is that bad?" Harry asked.

"It means that the people who are Petrified probably don't know they're Petrified," Sam explained. "Like being unconscious. You blink and you're somewhere else. It's good, kind of. It means they won't be stuck in a body that won't move until the mandrakes are mature enough to be used."

McGonagall sighed. "This is out of my hands, Potter. Come with me. You, too, Winchester. Filius? Aurora? If you would take them to the hospital wing?"

"How are you going to get Nick there?" Harry asked.

McGonagall tilted her head in consideration, then flicked her wand. A fan popped into existence; McGonagall twitched her wand again and it floated over next to Sinistra, who bent down to get Justin's shoulders. _Clever_ , Sam thought. Using a fan would have never occurred to him.

McGonagall led them down to Dumbledore's office, told them to wait, and left them there. Dumbledore's half-molted bird looked sickly. It gagged a few times and burst into flames.

Harry jumped back, gasping and looking around frantically, but Sam smiled at it. He'd read enough creature books to know what it was now. "Chill out, Harry," he said. "It's a phoenix. It's fine."

It shrieked and gave one last burst of flame before it completely disintegrated, falling down to the office floor in a pile of ash.

Dumbledore chose to make his entrance at just that moment. Harry gasped and swore he'd had nothing to do with the bird's death, and Sam leaned against the wall.

"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry," Dumbledore said, situating himself behind his desk. "It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day. He's really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets."

Dumbledore pinned Harry with a penetrating gaze, but before either said anything else, the door burst open and Hagrid came in. "It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore! I was talkin' ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time, sir" - Sam finally realized Hagrid was waving around a dead rooster - "it can't've bin him, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to!"

"Hagrid, I-" Dumbledore tried to interrupt, but Hagrid wasn't having it

"Yeh've got the wrong boy, sir, I know Harry never-"

 _"Hagrid!_ I do not think that Harry attacked those people!"

"Oh." The rooster fell to his side. "Right. I'll wait outside then, Headmaster."

"You don't think it was me, Professor?" Harry asked hopefully when Hagrid has traipsed outside and closed the door behind him.

"No, Harry, I don't. But I still want to talk to you. I must ask you whether there is anything you'd like to tell me - anything at all."

There was a short pause before Harry said, "No, there isn't anything, Professor."

Dumbledore nodded. "Sam? Have you anything to add?"

"No, sir," Sam said.

"Have you found anything that might be causing this?"

"No, sir," Sam said again. "I've gone through all of the creature books in the main part of the library except for two. I thought it might be a basilisk at first, but that doesn't Petrify its victims."

"No, it doesn't," Dumbledore agreed, frowning. "Is there anything else you have to report?"

"No, sir," Sam said.

Dumbledore scribbled something on a piece of paper. "I am giving you carte blanche in the Restricted Section," he said.

"Thank you," Sam said, stepping forward to take the paper from Dumbledore's hand.

"Do not abuse this privilege," Dumbledore warned.

"I won't, sir," Sam assured him.


	5. Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spans chapters "The Polyjuice Potion" and "The Secret Diary"

In the aftermath of the attack, the school got skittish. People who had previously planned to stay for Christmas rushed to take their names off the lists. The Weasley twins, who had sworn to McGonagall there were no hidden passages down the hallway in which Justin and Nick had been Petrified, went around in front of Harry, calling out things like, "Here comes the Heir of Slytherin!" and "Watch out, seriously evil person coming through!" They would pelt him with cloves of garlic when they saw him in the hallways. Harry seemed to take it with good grace, laughing whenever they did something like that. Draco got angrier and angrier, ranting about how Potter was getting the credit for something he would never have the guts to do whenever he got the chance.

For his own part, Sam spent more and more time in the library. With access to the Restricted Section, he could find more information. The downside was that the books were also much thicker, were written in sloppier handwriting, and took far longer to read. He refused to check them out, fearing his friends would see the books and ask about them, so he was forced to skip his runs in favor of getting to the library right when it opened, reading through breakfast, and passing it off as running longer and not getting back to the dorm until after the others had already left for breakfast (he made sure to wet his hair in a bathroom to complete the lie). He would go straight to the library after classes, spend dinner working on his assignments and talking with his friends in the Great Hall, and then go back to the library to keep reading. His grades were slipping, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. His professors knew what was distracting him, and he had to believe that that and his continued mastery of classwork would be enough to keep them from flunking him outright.

At long last, the semester ended. Sam said goodbye to his friends and went immediately to the library. He spent all day every day in there, skimming through books and trying to piece together tomes written in Latin, which he hadn't read in several years. He eventually found a translation book in the language section, which made it much less difficult to read.

He had the library to himself. Even Hermione, who had also stayed over break, didn't come. Sam couldn't bring himself to be upset about that, since he didn't want _her_ asking questions about his research, either. She knew he was a hunter, but he had yet to forgive her for hurting Millie.

A letter came from Christina at breakfast on the third day of break. He spent an hour reading and replying, climbed to the Owlery, and sent it off. He returned to the library and the books covered in so much dust he sneezed repeatedly.

Sam took the chance of checking the books out over break, knowing Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle wouldn't care enough to ask him what he was reading. He spent every night reading until two or three in the morning, forcing himself to stay up later and work on less sleep. He wasted half an hour looking up a spell to transfigure water into coffee. It tasted like sludge, but he needed the caffeine to stay awake.

He blinked awake one morning, cheek plastered to the table, and peeled himself to sitting upright. He mumbled the spell to refill his glass with water, then the spell to turn it into coffee, and drank it down. The taste was slowly getting to the point where Sam didn't want to scrape his tongue off after tasting it, which was all to the good. He checked his watch, which showed he'd slept for two hours. He pulled the book back under her nose and forced his eyes to focus. Three people and a cat had already been hurt; he didn't want the count to get any higher.

Still, he was tempted to go back to sleep. He hadn't found the answer in months of research - what were the odds he'd find it now?

He pushed the thought from his mind and made more coffee.

Several hours and five cups later, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle appeared in the common room and left. Goyle hesitated and looked back. "Breakfast?" he asked.

Sam blinked at him. It was the first time Goyle had ever spoken directly to him. "Um, sure. Be right there." He marked his place in the book with a scrap piece of parchment he'd been using to take notes on anything it might be. So far, there were five things he'd jotted down and then crossed out. 'Basilisk' headed the list, followed by 'overgrown occamy', 'Medusa', 'dragon mutation', and 'sphinx'.

He continued to read over breakfast, forcing his aching eyes to focus. He also gulped down four cups of tea he'd sweetened liberally, unaware of Snape's eyes on him.

When the other Slytherins got up from the table, Sam blinked and looked around. All of the Weasleys had stayed again, as had Harry, Hermione, the same Ravenclaw girl as the year before, and the seventh-year Slytherins Sam had never spoken to. Not one Hufflepuff had stayed. Sam marked his place in the book once more and went back to the library.

Snape found him there just before eleven. "Winchester," he said neutrally.

"Hello, Professor," Sam said. 

"The Headmaster wishes me to speak with you."

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I'm trying, but-"

Snape held up a hand, and Sam fell silent. "That is the problem. Have you looked in a mirror since break started?"

"Um. No?" Sam guessed. Even when he used the bathroom, he hurried, washing his hands and leaving to get back to researching.

"Hmph. You look sick. Your grades are dropping. You barely eat. You spend all day locked in here and all night reading in the common room until you pass out. You are not taking care of yourself and have allowed the hunt to take priority."

"Yes, sir," Sam said. "People are being hurt. I can't-"

"You are a Slytherin," Snape interrupted. "You must be able to take care of yourself."

"Not at the cost of everyone else," Sam argued.

"Really? Is that what other hunters do? Refuse to take care of themselves so they're useless when the time comes to do something?" Snape asked sarcastically.

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it. He couldn't think of a time Dean or John had worked themselves this hard, only the times they'd worked _him_ so hard. Neither Lianne nor Christina had spent so much time trying to figure something out.

He took a deep breath. "Until I figure out what this is," he said, choosing his words carefully, "I won't be able to focus on anything else."

"Have you tried?" Snape asked facetiously.

Sam answered anyway. "Not on this hunt, but on others. People have _died_ because I slacked off. I can't let that happen again."

Snape scowled. "Has it occurred to you to ask for help?"

"From who?" Sam asked helplessly. "The only students who know what I am won't talk to me because they're Gryffindors and I'm a Slytherin. You came to me for help because none of you have been on a hunt before. When Justin and Nick were found, Dumbledore gave me a pass to the Restricted Section and told me to let him know when I found the answer. I know you professors are busy, with grading and trying to keep the panic down. That leaves the ghosts, all of whom but Myrtle are too afraid to even _look_ at me - the Bloody Baron leaves the room when he sees me sitting there. Lianne and Christina don't know anything that can help, and neither does anyone _they_ know. Who am I supposed to ask?"

"You could speak to Lockhart," Snape said. "He is your Defense teacher."

Sam burst out laughing and found he couldn't stop. He actually fell out of his chair, wheezing so hard it couldn't be called 'laughter', with tears leaking out of his eyes. He curled up in a rough approximation of the fetal position, trying to stop and failing.

At last he managed to get himself over control enough to climb back into the chair.

"See?" Snape asked. Sam stifled a giggle, a little surprised the professor was still there. "You cannot do this to yourself. You need to rest."

"I'm fine," Sam said, ruining the effect when another giggle escaped.

"Which is why you were just rolling on the library floor," Snape said sarcastically.

"I was not _rolling,_ " Sam said indignantly, turning the page. Revenants again.

"Are you learning anything new from these books?"

"No," he admitted.

"Then take a break. Do you even know what day it is?"

"Um." Sam flipped through the break, mentally counting days. "The twenty-second?"

"It's Christmas," Snape said. "You are three days off. You need to take care of yourself."

"But-"

"If I see you in here this afternoon I will drag you to bed and force-feed you a Sleeping Draught," Snape interrupted him. "Nap. Play a game. Laze. I do not care. But you need to take a break."

Snape would follow through on the threat, Sam knew. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.

Snape stood. "Good. I expect you to be in the Great Hall at the start of dinner." Sam looked at his watch - that was half an hour away. He was still in the 'Ghosts' section; he had Mammals and Reptiles yet to finish. "And you _will_ get your marks to an acceptable level again."

"Yes, sir," Sam mumbled. Once he'd left, Sam scanned the Revenants and Women in White sections before he had to leave. He slid the book into his bag and left for the Great Hall.

It looked magnificent. A dozen evergreens, covered with frost, stood around the Hall. Holly and mistletoe crossed the ceiling, from which warm, dry snow was falling. Sam helped himself to tea, eggnog, corn, and ham. Crabbe and Goyle ate everything in sight. Draco stuck to ham, rolls, potatoes, and green bean casserole.

Dumbledore stood and led them in carols Sam didn't know before the desserts sparkled in. This time, Sam was ready for them appearing on fire and didn't fall off the bench in surprise.

"Who made that sweater, Weasley, a colorblind child?" Draco shouted across the hall.

"Oh, shut up," Sam said irritably. He had a headache brewing and had a nasty feeling it was a mix of that morning's hysterics and a general lack of sleep. "It's Christmas, Draco, stop being a jerk and eat your cake."

Draco smirked. "Who's gonna make me shut up?"

"Nobody's going to make you, I just thought maybe you'd like to get your head out of your colon." Sam rubbed his temples, headache growing worse.

Draco's voice pierced right to the center of his brain: "How _dare_ you! Wait until my father hears about this."

"What's he gonna do, send me a nasty letter?" Sam finished his tea and filled his glass with water instead. He drank the whole thing in four large gulps. "All I'm asking is you tone down the nastiness. 'Tis the season, after all."

Draco sneered at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Headache." Sam refilled his glass and ignored Draco, who blessedly decided to ignore him, until dessert sparked off the table. He got back to the common room and seriously considered looking at the book again - but no. His head was pounding, and he wouldn't be able to make his eyes focus. He stumbled into the dormitory, toed off his shoes, and curled up into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow. He slept uneasily, dreaming of basilisks and statues and black books and, for some reason, Harry Potter.

He woke in time for Christmas tea, which he attended mostly to keep Snape off his back. His headache had abated some, but he still hurt. Sam stuck to water, unwilling to try to stomach anything else, and fell back into bed almost as soon as he got back to the dorm. This time, though, he woke up after barely an hour. After a few more minutes trying to sleep, he gave up and went out to the common room.

"Saint Potter, the Mudbloods' friend," Draco was saying to Crabbe and Goyle. "He's another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn't go around with that jumped-up Granger Mudblood. And people think he's Slytherin's heir! I wish I knew who it is. I could help them."

Draco was _still_ on about that?

"You must have some idea who's behind it all," Goyle said. Sam froze, mind spinning. That wasn't something Goyle would say; Goyle would say, "Who is it?" or "You dunno nothing?"

Draco didn't notice anything wrong. "You know I haven't, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you? And Father won't tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened, either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it'll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing - last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood _died._ So bet it's a matter of time before one of them's killed this time. I hope it's Granger."

Goyle asked, "D'you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?"

Another too-long, too-intelligent sentence. Sam felt bad for thinking it, but Crabbe and Goyle both made stumps look like MENSA members, and they were half as curious. Complete thoughts making it out of either of their mouths was asking far too much of them.

"Oh, yeah. Whoever it was was expelled," Malfoy said dismissively. "They're probably still in Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" Goyle asked. Sam didn't know the term, either.

"Azkaban. The _wizard prison_ , Goyle. Honestly, if you were any slower, you'd be going backward. Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get too mixed-up in it. Of course, he's got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our mansion last week? Yeah. Luckily they didn't find much. Father's got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own secret chamber under the drawing-room floor-"

"Ho!" Crabbe crowed. He and Goyle looked at each other, and then they jumped up. "Medicine for my stomach," Crabbe grunted. He and Goyle raced out.

Sam followed them. "Where are you going?" Draco called out.

"Headache medicine," Sam said. As soon as he was out of the common room, he took off, chasing Crabbe and Goyle. They weren't fleet on their feet; Sam caught up easily.

Only, they weren't Crabbe and Goyle anymore. They were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, and they were racing upstairs in oversized robs and socks. Sam hurried after them at a hunter's gait, fast but silent on the rough stone. He followed them straight into Myrtle's bathroom. Ron turned to close the door and stumbled backwards when Sam slammed it open on them.

"So," Sam said angrily. Ron's face drained of color. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

"We - we, er -" Ron stuttered.

"Any time now," Sam said coldly, closing the door and leaning against it, blocking off any hope of escape. "Because it _looks_ like you kidnapped two members of my house, took their forms, and snuck into our common room using Polyjuice Potion."

Their mouths opened and closed helplessly. Sam's temper flared again, bringing with it a sharp spike in the pain in his head. "Why?" he snarled.

"Because - because, erm -"

Myrtle flipped through a stall. "Ooh. Hello, Sam. Harry." She giggled.

"Hi, Myrtle," Sam said tightly, not taking his eyes off the boys in front of him. "Well? I'm waiting."

"We thought Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin," Harry burst out.

Sam stared at him. "Are you _joking?_ You brewed a forbidden potion and committed a felony to _talk to Malfoy?_ "

Harry's mouth flapped open and closed. Ron called, "Hermione?"

"Go away!" a female voice yelled. Sam suddenly realized the reason for the firework a month ago and got even angrier, but he restrained himself.

"Ooh, it's awful, wait 'til you see," Myrtle said with relish.

"Hermione," Ron said again.

The lock slid back, a stall door opened, and Hermione stepped out, robes pulled up over her face. She was crying.

"What's up? Have you still got Millicent's nose or something?"

Hermione dropped her robes. Sam stiffened; Ron backed into the sink. Her face was covered in black fur, her eyes were bright yellow with slitted pupils, and long, pointed ears poked through her hair.

"It was a cat hair," she sobbed. "Millicent Bulstrode must have a cat! And the potion isn't supposed to be used for animal transformations!"

"You seriously couldn't tell the difference between cat hair and human hair?" Sam said incredulously.

Ron glared at him. "We're not all hunters, Winchester."

Sam rubbed his eyes again. His head was _pounding_ at this point. "Whatever. I don't care anymore. But the next time someone I know comes in acting strangely, I'm going to shoot first and ask questions later, got it?"

Not waiting for an answer, he turned and left. He _really_ needed something for his head.  
***  
When he came back down after convincing Pomfrey to give him a potion for his head, he heard banging from the closet off the hall. He opened the door; Crabbe and Goyle came tumbling out. Sam toed their shoes over to them and asked, "So how'd they get you?"

"Cakes," Goyle grunted.

Sam sighed. "Fantastic. Didn't you ever learn not to eat something unless you know where it's been?"

They looked at him dully, out of deep-set eyes, and Sam felt very small and cruel. "Sorry. Bad day. You need to go to Pomfrey or anything?"

"Common room," Crabbe said, stuffing his shoes onto his feet without untying the laces.

When they got back, Sam went to the dormitory. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd showered, and now that he wasn't bent over the book, he felt absolutely disgusting. He scrubbed himself red and raw, not able to shake the feeling of dirt even when he started to bleed.

Eventually, he got out and dressed. He finally noticed the packages at the foot of his bed, all addressed to him. His friends had sent him candy, snacks, books - Theo wrote, _You've been spending a lot of time at the library_ and gave him a book on magical mathematics, which Sam hadn't even known was a field of study.

Millie sent him a deck of Exploding Snap and a letter which included,

_You've been distant lately. I miss ~~yo~~ trouncing you at Exploding Snap. Let me break this deck in with you when I get back._

For the second time that day, Sam felt guilty. He'd let his friendships fall by the wayside in his mad rush to find the creature. He was _terrible_ at friends; he'd always dreamed of staying somewhere long enough to build a solid friendship, and now he was at the same school for the second year in a row and he was throwing them away. What was _wrong_ with him?

When his friends came back, he made more of an effort. It had been months since the last attack; maybe he could afford to relax a little. He resumed running in the morning and left the library at least an hour before curfew so he could spend time with Millie, Theo, Blaise, and Pansy. He also made it a point to make it to at least two meals a day. Snape eyed him whenever they passed each other in the hallways and when Sam was in Potions class, but didn't speak to him again. Sam knew Snape wasn't interested in guidance nearly as much as he had a vested interest in maintaining the image of his house, so as long as Sam wasn't starving or filthy, Snape would let him be.

Sam finally managed to finish the 'Mammals' portion of the library book on February thirteenth. There was an hour and a half left to curfew; did he want to continue to 'Reptiles' or go back to the common room? He _should_ keep reading. He _wanted_ to be with his friends.

Two more entries, he decided. He got through 'Muggle snakes and lizards' and 'Argentinian flying salamanders' before he went back to play Exploding Snap.

He went to breakfast the next morning, as he always did, to find the walls of the Great Hall plastered with oversized pink flowers. Heart-shaped confetti was falling from the ceiling. Sam's first move was to cast spells over his plate and glass to keep paper from falling in, and then to spell his friends' dishware when they asked.

Lockhart stood. "Happy Valentine's Day!" he yelled. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all - and it doesn't end here!" Lockhart clapped, and a dozen dwarves wearing golden wings and carrying harps entered the hall. Pansy giggled; Millie and the boys looked repulsed. "My friendly, card-carrying cupids! They will be roving around the school today carrying you valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion. Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a love potion? And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Flitwick hid his face in his hands. Snape looked murderous, which seemed to be his default expression whenever Lockhart spoke to or about him. 

The dwarfs interrupted class all that day. Sam didn't mind it in History of Magic; at least something _interesting_ happened for a change. Rumor had it that when three dwarfs interrupted McGonagall's second-period lecture in the span of ten minutes, she got so angry she turned the door into stone so no more could get through. Sam heard that one at lunch and had no trouble believing it had happened - McGonagall had an impressive temper, though she controlled it well.

They had double Defense that afternoon with the Hufflepuffs. On their way upstairs, they heard the sound of ripping cloth and shattering bottles. Sam and Draco both turned to find the source, Sam to help, Draco to mock. The other Slytherins followed, curious.

Harry was on the floor, one of the hideously gaudy dwarfs standing at the side and tuning his harp. "What's going on here?" Draco asked, delighted.

"What's all this commotion?" the Weasley who had a prefect badge asked, also appearing on the scene.

Harry tried to run, but the dwarf tackled him and sat on his legs. "Right," he said grimly. "Here is your singing valentine.

" _His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad,  
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.  
I wish he was mine, he's really divine,  
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord._"

Draco, along with everyone else in the hallway, started laughing. Sam choked when he tried to avoid joining in. By the time they all dispersed, some people were literally crying from how hard they were laughing. Sam pulled his friends away; none of them noticed Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle didn't join them.

"At least it rhymed?" Millie said weakly when they were two hallways away.

"And there was a rhythm," Blaise agreed. They lost the battle to keep straight faces and started laughing again. Without Harry there to be humiliated, Sam joined them. 

Defense had long since become Sam's most hated class, not least since Lockhart vacillated between ignoring him and trying to humiliate him in front of the class. Today was a humiliation day: he called Sam up and demanded he play the part of a banshee. When he got slammed into a wall hard enough to see stars, Sam wondered why he even bothered coming to class. By the time it was over, his arms were bruised and the humor of the singing valentine had long since faded.

"Off to the library again?" Millie asked when Sam stood after dinner. "Want company?"

Sam forced a weak smile. "Thanks, but I'll just bite your head off. You guys have fun tonight."

For the first time in months, Sam didn't go straight to the Restricted Section to open the creature encyclopedia he'd been slogging through since the middle of December. Instead he worked on his Defense essay, since he could use sharp phrasing to work off some of his anger. By the time Pince came to shoo him out of the library, he was calm enough to trust himself to not tear somebody to pieces.


	6. Chamber of Secrets

The rest of February and the first half of March passed quickly. Sam got three-quarters of the way through the creature book and was quickly losing hope he'd find the answer in there.

Before the four-day Easter break, Snape gathered the second-years in the potions classroom to discuss class schedules with them. "I told you at the beginning of last year we would discuss elective courses," he told them. "You all got lists of the choices available to you this morning at breakfast, correct?" At their nods, he continued, "I would like to go over the options with you to ensure you make good choices.

"OWL-level Ancient Runes covers Sumerian and Babylonian cuneiform, Egyptian hieroglyphics, Venetic, and Lycian. As such, it focuses mostly on the Mediterranean area. NEWT-level, which you may choose after your fifth year, focuses on the Americas. If you are not interested in extinct languages, do not sign up.

"Arithmancy is magical mathematics. It covers the creation of new spells and the balancing of energies required. It is almost entirely theoretical until NEWT-level , so if you prefer practical applications, you will not want to sign up.

"Care of Magical Creatures is exactly as the name implies. Hagrid will show you how to care for a variety of magical animals." Snape met Sam's eyes. "This also includes what is and is not good for them. Do not sign up if you dislike or fear large animals; Hagrid's sense of danger is skewed by his size.

"Divination is the study of prediction and telling fortunes. It is a soft option, so unless you have a sincere interest in seeing the future, it is a way to keep your grades up with imagination and a minimum of actual work.

"Muggle Studies is the study of British Muggle culture. There has been some talk of making this a required class for purebloods, but that has not yet come to pass." Snape's sneer made it clear how he felt about that idea, though Sam didn't see why that was so bad. Maybe it was more of Draco's insistence on pureblood supremacy- crap. Did Snape buy in to it, too? "Personally, I don't see any point at all in having that class, but it's there if you'd like to learn about Muggle habits. Are there any questions?"

Pansy asked, "What did you take?"

"Arithmancy and Divination. Anything else?"

Nobody said anything, so Snape said, "Choose two or thee options and then give me the slips. I will get you registered."

When most people said 'two or three', they generally meant 'a few'. When Snape said 'two or three', it meant 'no less than two and more than three'.

Sam stared down at the slips and descriptions, considering, and ultimately marked down Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and Divination. He wanted to learn how to create spells, and he'd never admit it, but he missed the sense of danger that came from facing off against something larger and stronger than he was. Even this year, with the creature on the loose, his time had been spent in the library, theorizing about what might be causing the attacks. He had marked Divination because seeing the future might help him keep people from getting hurt on hunts.

Snape collected their slips and dismissed them.

The next day Sam barely catalogued that there was a Quidditch match. He went straight to the library after breakfast, surprised to find Hermione there, too. He settled into a table out of sight of her, back in the Restricted Section, and pulled out the encyclopedia again.

He almost flipped right past 'basilisk', but made himself stop. Maybe basilisks had hitherto-unknown powers. In any case, it was the very last entry in the 'Serpents' subsection of 'Reptiles', probably because it was the most dangerous of them all. Sam read, eyes skipping over information he already knew. _Poison fangs...fifteen meters or more in length...chicken egg hatched under a toad...spiders are afraid of them...roosters' cries fatal...deadly eyes_ \- wait.

He looked closer. _Unconfirmed reports from Vichy, Sao Paolo, and Ceylon have claimed that seeing a basilisk's reflection will create a state of 'living stone', 'suspended animation', and 'stillness as if dead'._ Sam's breathing picked up, excitement mounting as images of water and cameras danced in front of his eyes. But Justin - Nick. Nick was a ghost, Justin had seen the basilisk _through Nick_.

But how was it getting through the school? All the attacks had occurred near bathrooms. Was it using the plumbing? Were the pipes big enough?

In a castle this size, it was almost certain the plumbing was oversized to handle so many people.

Sam let out a whoop of triumph. He marked a place in the book, but had no sooner done that than Dumbledore's voice rang through the halls: "All students to their common rooms; all students to common rooms for an announcement from their Head of House."

This couldn't wait. He checked out the book and hurried down to the gargoyle in front of Dumbledore's office - but then he hesitated. Dumbledore had made it clear he expected Sam to figure out the hunt. If he went in now, with no idea of how to kill or catch the basilisk, he would be sent away. It would be better to approach a teacher first. Snape. He'd go to Snape, who would be in the common room. Sam took off, reaching the common room just before Snape did. "Professor!" he called.

Snape turned. "Winchester?"

Sam skidded to a halt. "I figured it out," he panted. "It's a basilisk, it's using the pipes - seeing a reflection won't kill, it'll Petrify - the water and camera and Nick, that's what did it, that's why nobody's dead -"

Snape's eyes widened. "There's been another attack," he said hurriedly. "Hermione Granger and Penelope Clearwater. There was a mirror by their feet."

Sam blinked, mind going into overdrive. "Hermione was in the library this morning - she must have left before I did -"

"I must address the house," Snape said. "You, go to Dumbledore."

"I don't know how to kill it yet," Sam said. "If I go to him before I know, he won't listen."

Snape paused. "Perhaps not. Wait out here. _Keep your eyes closed._ " He swept into the common room, closing the door behind him. Sam leaned against the wall, reviewing his weapons. Decapitation would probably be best, though fire may also work. Or maybe it could be killed like a regular snake; a clip emptied between its eyes would work. He'd have to blind it first, somehow. A cutting spell? A blindfold?

He was still struggling to plan an attack when Snape emerged. "Staff room," he ordered. Sam followed him, still trying to think his way through. "If no one else, Hagrid will know how to kill a basilisk," Snape said. "Do you know where the entrance is?"

Another image came to him. "Myrtle's bathroom," he said. "The tap with a snake on it."

"I already hit that with every spell I know," Snape pointed out.

Millie's voice came to him, and the number of memories flooding his brain was enough to make it ache dully. "Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth," he said. "Is that hereditary?"

"You think someone needs to speak Parseltongue to open the Chamber?"

"It would make sense. Salazar Slytherin's heir - Parseltongue would prevent anyone _not_ a Parselmouth from getting in."

"Hmph. Inside," Snape ordered, stopping by a door next to the Great Hall. Snape followed him inside, both of them unnoticed by the crowd inside, who continued to talk to each other in hushed voices.

With the exceptions of McGonagall and Dumbledore, every teacher was inside, as was Filch. McGonagall came in barely a minute later. "Let's get started," she began, but stopped. "What are you doing here?" she asked Sam.

He took a deep breath. "I think the creature's a basilisk. There are reports from all over the world that seeing a reflection will Petrify someone rather than killing them, and every attack has involved a reflection or a ghost. It's using the plumbing to get around, and the entrance is in Myrtle's bathroom. You need to speak Parseltongue to get in."

"How long have you known this?" McGonagall asked sharply.

"I only found out about the Petrification this morning," Sam said. "The rest of it - Myrtle's bathroom, the Parseltongue - I put together on my way here. I still don't know how to kill it, but the first step would be to blind it-"

"Hold on a second!" Lockhart said. "Don't you think we should get confirmation before we plan for an attack?"

Sam's temper frayed. " _Confirmation?_ The cry of the rooster kills basilisks, and Hagrid's roosters have been killed. Spiders are afraid of it, and at every scene they've been running away as fast at they can. It uses the pipes, and every attack has taken place near a bathroom. Seeing it through a ghost or reflection will Petrify. What more do you need?"

Snape touched his shoulder and pulled him back gently, though his face was a mask of anger and derision. "Gilderoy, Winchester makes sense. If you're not willing to help hunt it down, leave now. Your cowardice will be known."

"I - well, I -" he spluttered, looking around for help. Every teacher looked back at him, faces stony. None of them liked him, Sam realized. He'd thought surely Sprout, one of the most cheerful and friendly people he'd ever met, could at least tolerate him - but she was just as unhelpful as everyone else. Lockhart stood and stumbled out.

Sam took a deep breath. "Well, everyone already knew he was a moron," he said. "Does anyone know how to kill a basilisk?"

"Destroy th' brain," Hagrid said.

"How thick is its skull?" Sam asked him.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Before we get to planning it, I should ask who is going on the attack."

"I will come," Snape said instantly.

"As will I," Flitwick squeaked.

"I'm comin'," Hagrid said.

"As am I," McGonagall said. "I think four of us is enough to be getting on with. We'll need a Parselmouth to get us inside; Aurora, if you will fetch Harry Potter? We will be in my office. The rest of you, make sure no students remain in the hallways, and warn them to look around corners with mirrors. Better Petrified than-"

She broke off, but everyone knew how the sentence was supposed to end. Better to be Petrified than to be killed.

Sam followed the teachers to McGonagall's office. None of them sat; all of their faces were grim.

Snape looked at Sam. "How armed are you?"

"Two daggers and a fully-loaded gun."

"Good," Snape said.

Sam looked at Hagrid. "How thick is its skull?" he asked again.

"Pretty thick," he said. "I dunno if yeh c'n break through wi' anythin' yeh got."

"The first thing to do is blind it," Sam said. "That'll keep it from killing us without actually _biting_ us, and hopefully we'll all be quick enough on our feet to avoid its mouth. After that, we'll just have to aim for its head and hope we can bring it down. Unless there's a rooster hidden somewhere we can take down with us."

"It could be conjured," Flitwick pointed out.

Sam nodded. "Maybe that should be our first try, but if it only works with natural roosters, we have to be ready for it to fight."

There was a knock on the door, and Sinistra showed Harry in. Harry looked at them all and swallowed nervously.

"Good," Sam said briskly. "We have a way in now."

"What?" Harry asked.

"The Chamber of Secrets," Sam said impatiently. "We know where it is and what's inside. We just need a way in."

"What-"

"It's a basilisk and we need a Parselmouth to open it," Sam interrupte. "Which is where you come in."

"The plan," McGonagall said, "is to enter through the sink in Myrtle's bathroom. You will come only as far as necessary. We will blind the basilisk, and then attempt to kill it. You are not to join the fight, Potter."

"But-" Harry protested.

"You are not to join the fight," she repeated. Harry looked down and away, mumbling something Sam couldn't understand.

McGonagall accepted it. "We know what we're doing and where we're going," she said. "Let us hope we can take it by surprise."

They walked to the bathroom. Snape made sure Sam knew a cutting curse and forced him to demonstrate on a wooden plinth as they passed. The vase on top of it shattered, and Snape repaired it with a wave of his wand.

They got a nasty surprise when they reached the bathroom: another message in blood, written directly underneath. _Hurry, or her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever._

"Who is 'her'?" Harry asked anxiously.

"No idear," Hagrid said grimly.

Something occurred to Sam. "Shouldn't we talk to Dumbledore first?"

McGonagall shook her head. "Albus was relieved of his post by the Board of Governors immediately after Miss Granger and Miss Clearwater were found."

Sam felt numb. "So you're acting Headmistress?"

"Yes."

"Then you shouldn't come," Snape said heavily.

She turned on him. "Why not?"

"Because you haven't appointed a Deputy Head yet," he said, meeting her eyes squarely. "If something happens to you, there's nobody left to run the school. Hogwarts needs you, Minerva. You remember what happened the _last_ time Hogwarts was without a Head, do you not?"

Her nostrils flared. "I hardly think anything will happen to me."

"But do you want to take that chance?"

McGonagall sighed and deflated. "I shouldn't."

She looked at Flitwick. "Take care of them, Filius," she said. Sam was startled to see her eyes reflecting brightly. She was almost crying. Her house had been hit hardest, Sam realized, and now she was in charge of the entire school. Three of her colleagues and two of her students might well be going to their deaths, and she was forced to remain behind.

"Of course," Flitwick said, patting her leg - the highest part of her he could reach. "Go deal with the Ministry."

She rubbed her temples and walked off.

Hagrid smiled weakly down at them. "No use puttin' it off."

Sam was first in the door, followed by Harry. Myrtle was nowhere to be seen, and Sam felt a pinch of guilt he hadn't been in to visit lately. _After we get out,_ he vowed.

He pointed to the middle sink. "That one," he told Harry. "There's a snake engraved on the faucet."

Harry looked at the snake and said, "Open up." When nothing happened, he looked at it from another angle and hissed.

The tap spun wildly, and then the sink moved out of sight to leave a large pipe exposed. Flitwick gasped.

"Tha's not big enough fer me," Hagrid said.

Sam winced. Snape told him, "Then go to the hospital wing. Warn Poppy of what we are doing, and make sure she has enough space if we are all injured. We will send for someone if that is the case."

Hagrid left. Sam tried not to get discouraged - they hadn't even started yet, and a third of their party was gone.

"Who's going first?" Harry asked at last.

"I will," Sam said, moving forward, but Snape gripped his shoulder.

"Let me," Flitwick said.

"I go next. Winchester, you next, then Potter," Snape ordered. Sam saw the logic there - teachers, then students. It was in order of the threat they posed. Flitwick, the dueling champion; Snape, the adult; Sam, the hunter; Harry, the boy with the reputation but no demonstrated skill.

"It's safe," Flitwick called up from below a minute later. "There's a Cushioning Charm on the stone."

Snape sat on the edge and pushed himself off. Sam and Harry looked at each other, counting the seconds. Seventy-nine of them later, Snape called up, "Winchester!"

"See you in two minutes," Sam said, forcing a smile. He jumped down, sliding through foul-smelling muck until he landed at the bottom of the long stone tunnel. Flitwick cleaned him off with a flick of his wand. "Thanks," he said, then yelled up the pipe, "Your turn, Harry!"

"We must be miles under the school," Harry said when Flitwick had cleaned him off, too.

"Probably under the lake," Sam said. They all lit their wands before they went forward. Sam purposefully didn't think about how they were going to get back.

There were small animal bones underfoot that crunched loudly in the otherwise silent tunnels. The tunnel bent, and Snape stopped. "It's ahead," he breathed.

Sam squinted. "It's not moving," he whispered. "Is it asleep?"

Flitwick and Snape both looked at him like he was an idiot. Right - they couldn't tell that, either. Sam switched his wand to his left hand, pulled a knife with his right, and whispered, "Stay here." He stole forward, Snape's hand coming out to grab him a second too late. He walked as a hunter, not as a student, careful not to make noise on the uneven stone.

"It's just skin," Sam said when he was close enough to see it, voice no louder than necessary. "Come on." The skin was a vivid green, empty and brittle and at least twenty feet long. The book had said they could grow to sixty; it was either an old skin or a relatively young basilisk. They skirted it and walked on.

What seemed like hours of twists and curves and false alarms later, they came to a dead end. The wall had two entwined snakes carved on it with emeralds set for eyes. Harry cleared his throat and hissed. The snakes separated, the wall broke in half and both sides slid seamlessly into the wall, and the four of them walked inside.

It was a very long, tall room. Sam was reminded of throne rooms he'd seen on television when he was younger. There were pillars, carved with snakes, forming a long hallway. The other end of the room was in shadow. This room had some light to it, with an oddly greenish tint. Maybe it was under the lake, or on the other side?

The four of them pulled together, moving forward in a tight knot. Nothing loomed at them out of the darkness, though they kept a close eye on the shadows. At last, when they reached the end of the hall, they saw it. A large statue, as tall as the Chamber, carved to look like a man. _Salazar Slytherin, probably,_ Sam thought, trying to remember where he'd seen the statue before. His beard fell almost to his feet, between which rested the crumpled form of a long-haired redhead.

"Ginny!" Harry whispered, darting forward. His wand fell to the floor with a clatter as he knelt next to her, patting her face and hands.

"She won't wake," said a soft voice from the shadows. Harry spun to look at the speaker, as did everyone else. Snape, Sam, and Flitwick cancelled the illumination on their wands, not wanting to draw attention until they had to.

Harry recognized him, clearly, because he said, "Tom - Tom Riddle?"

Snape sucked in a breath. The name obviously meant something to him.

Harry continued, "What d'you mean, she won't wake? She's not - she's not -"

"She's still alive," Tom said. "But only just."

"Are you a ghost?" Harry asked desperately.

"A memory," Tom said. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

"There's a basilisk," Harry said urgently. "Tom, please - please help - it could come along -"

"It won't come until it is called," Tom said calmly.

Harry gave up on trying to pull Ginny to her feet. "What d'you-"

"I've waited a long time to see you. To speak to you."

Sam took a step forward, but Snape seized his shoulder in a bruising grip and leaned down to whisper, "That is the Dark Lord. Do not interrupt until we know where the basilisk is."'

Tom was still speaking. "...how she didn't think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her. It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl. But I was patient. I wrote back, I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. _No one's ever understood me like you, Tom. I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in. It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket._ " He laughed, high and cold. Sam's hair stood on end.

"If I say it myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured her soul out to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted. I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of _my_ secrets, to start pouring a little of _my_ soul back into _her._ "

"What d'you mean?" Harry croaked. He shot a glance at the three of them, hiding in the shadows, hardly daring to breathe, before he focused back on Tom. Sam hoped the boy hadn't seen Harry's movement, or they were all three dead.

"Haven't you guessed yet, Harry Potter? Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods and the Squib's cat. Of course, she didn't _know_ what she was doing at first. It was very amusing, I wish you could have seen her new diary entries. Far more interesting, they became. 

" _Dear Tom,_ " he mimicked, _"I think I'm losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don't know how they got there. Dear Tom, I can't remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale and not myself. I think he suspects me. There was another attack today and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I'm going mad. I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom!_

"It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary. But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And that's where _you_ came in, Harry. You found it, and I couldn't have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it was _you_ , the very person I was most anxious to meet."

"Why'd you want to meet me?" Harry asked defiantly.

"Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Harry. Your whole _fascinating_ history. I knew I must find out about you, meet you if I could. So I decided to show you my famous capture of that great oaf Hagrid to gain your trust-"

"Hagrid's my friend," Harry spat. "And you framed him, didn't you? I thought you made a mistake, but-"

Tom laughed again, cutting him off. "It was my word against Hagrid's, Harry. Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, prefect, Head Boy, perfect student. On the other, Hagrid, in trouble every week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls. But I admit, even _I_ was surprised how well the plan worked."

"But this one didn't," Harry said. "Nobody's died. They've only been Petrified. Everyone's going to be fine."

"I don't care about Mudbloods anymore," Tom said. "Didn't I just tell you? For many months now, my new target has been you."

"Why?"

"How is it that you, a skinny boy with no extraordinary talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

Wait - hadn't Snape said Tom Riddle _was_ the Dark Lord Voldemort?

"Why do you care?" Harry asked. "Voldemort was after your time."

"Voldemort is my past, present, and future. Harry Potter." He flicked his wand, creating flaming letters than rearranged themselves. Sam couldn't read the letters, but Snape's hand was painfully tight on his shoulder now.

Then, without warning, it released. Snape took aim and shouted, _"Expelliarmus!"_

The wand flew from Tom's hand, and the letters dissolved. He turned, hate in his eyes, and screamed. The wand flew back to his hand. He whirled back around and hissed at the statue.

"Close your eyes!" Harry yelled, running to one side of the statue, the mouth of which was now opening.

Tom fired a spell at Snape. "Get the basilisk," Flitwick squeaked at Sam. "Severus and I will keep Riddle engaged."

Sam ducked behind a pillar and waited - waited - at last, the statue's mouth was fully opened. A snake slid out, hitting the floor with a heavy thud, and Sam rapped out a Cutting Curse, destroying the eye closest to him before the eyelid opened. It shrieked in pain, whipping around to face him, and Sam shut his eyes. "Harry, _down!_ he yelled, spelling wildly in the snake's direction. He didn't know if he hit it until Harry yelled, "Eyes are gone!"

The snake was thrashing wildly. "Get Ginny out of the way!" Sam yelled to Harry, running forward with his gun drawn. He fired another Cutting Curse into its open mouth, and blood rained down.

That was a mistake: the yelled incantation had given away Sam's position. Sam fired blindly into the roof of its mouth before he had to dodge to the side.

He wasn't fast enough. The snake shuddered and convulsed, tail whipping and flinging Riddle bodily into the wall. Snape and Flitwick hammered him with curses while he was down. The head thudded down heavily, and a fang went straight through Sam's leg, pinning him to the floor.

He screamed, long and loud. The pain was indescribable. The head was jerking, and Sam pushed his wand into the jelly of its destroyed eye and screamed a garbled incantation for another Cutting Curse. It stopped twitching and Sam fell back, breathing hard.

Snape scrambled to his side. "Samuel Winchester, you don't get to die now," he said.

"Sorry," Sam breathed, voice hoarse from the screaming, gasping for air. "Tell - Lianne and - Christina - I'm sorry."

The pain was spreading up his leg, and Sam could feel warm tears trickling down his face. His vision was going foggy, and oh, god everything _hurt_.

And then, abruptly, he was standing outside his body, watching as Snape wrenched the fang from his leg and stabbed it into the diary instead. Ink pooled; Riddle faded from existence; Ginny woke up and burst into tears.

Flitwick joined Snape next to Sam's body and magicked a tourniquet around Sam's leg. Then he put a hand on Sam's neck. When he next looked up, he shook his head, a tear trickling down his face. He brushed a hand over Sam's face, closing his sightless eyes.

Sam was dead.

Sam was _dead._

He looked at his hands and saw stone through them. He started shaking. No, no, no, this couldn't - he was _twelve_ , he shouldn't be _dead_ -

"Is he okay?" Harry asked, helping to support Ginny as they walked over.

Flitwick shook his head, sitting down hard, tears still trickling down his face. Ginny crumpled, dragging Harry down to the floor with her. She was sobbing. Harry started crying, too. Sam couldn't see Snape's face from this angle, but he was waving his wand over Sam frantically, pouring a potion down his throat and forcing him to swallow it, dripping something else on his leg.

Oh god Sam was _dead._


	7. Death and Rebirth

Filius stared down at boy's body, blood rushing through him. No. _No._ He put a tourniquet on Sam's leg and shaking fingers on his neck, knowing in his heart of hearts it was already too late.

"Well?" Severus asked urgently, spelling the venom from his charge's body.

Filius tried in vain to find a pulse. At last he looked up and shook his head, heedless of the first tear. He closed the child's eyes, not wanting to see them staring at them condemningly.

Filius was fond of the boy. He had been since he'd stayed after class the first day and nearly begged to learn about shield charms. Oh, he had been cautious at first; they all were, unsure how the hunter boy would react to so much magic, not knowing how much of a hunter was instinct and how much was taught. But Sam had had a real love of learning, and an appreciation for spells themselves, not just their effects. That sort of thought was rare, especially in a boy his age; Filius knew just three others, all of whom had gone into spell development for the Ministry. Who knew what Sam would have become?

"Is he okay?" Potter asked, helping the Weasley girl over, and Filius could only shake his head. He lost his balance and sat with a quiet _thump_ , tears pouring freely down his face now. He could see Severus forcing potions into him and spelling the body, and he wanted to tell his colleague to save his stock, but he knew it would be useless. Severus didn't like children by any stretch of the imagination, but he was fiercely protective of those assigned to him. For one of his charges to be killed when he was just ten feet away….

"Come on," Severus whispered, "come on."

Potter and Weasley were both on the ground, crying.

Sam had told him once, with shadows in his eyes, that the reason he so badly wanted to know shield charms was because he'd seen too many people get hurt or killed because he was too slow. Filius had thought that sounded awful; now he was learning that it was worse than he'd ever thought. He'd been a dueling champion in his youth, and now he couldn't even protect a twelve-year-old. A child was _dead_ because he'd been overconfident, too fucking sure of himself, so goddamn convinced he could get everyone out healthy or at least alive. At the very least he'd thought he'd be able to keep one of the students from being killed, but no. He'd fucked up and Samuel Winchester had paid the price.

The boy had occupied a disproportionate amount of space in Filius's head since he'd heard there was a hunter coming to Hogwarts. American, because otherwise his family would hunt him down. At the time, he'd been worried; later, he'd been angry. Sam didn't deserve to be hunted. Sam deserved to be happy, and to grow up without having to risk his life, and to not know how fragile life really was before he was even a teenager. He hadn't gotten to grow up, hadn't even made it to thirteen, and that was almost worse. Nobody knew what would have been.

"You do not get to die now," Severus whispered again, casting a Resuscitation Charm. There was an edge of desperation in his voice.

Filius could only watch and hope, even knowing that the boy was irreversibly, irretrievably dead.  
***  
 _A large, bald black man was beside him. He frowned at Sam. "You need to be more careful," he said. "We will not save you next time."_

_"What?" Sam whispered, eyes still fixed on the scene before him, at three people sobbing and Snape pouring potions down his throat and casting spells all over his body._

_"You are not to die just yet," the man said. "You are an abomination, but you are needed."_

_He put his hand on Sam's head, and the world dissolved in white and pain._

It steadied eventually. His entire body hurt. Flitwick was crying to his side. Harry and Ginny were on the floor next to him. Snape was breathing deeply and too evenly for it to be anything other than deliberate counting.

The pain receded slowly, concentrating itself back into the wound on his leg, and Sam opened his eyes and took a choking gasp of air.

"Sam!" Snape said. Flitwick squeaked happily.

When Sam tried to sit up, Snape put a hand on his collarbone. "Not yet," he said. "Wait for the potions to work."

He had ripped away the bottom of Sam's pants to drip something on the jagged wound. Sam could feel the skin wiggling; it didn't hurt, but it was definitely _weird._ The feeling eventually subsided.

Snape helped him sit up. "I thought I told you self-sacrifice was far too Gryffindor a trait," he said roughly.

Sam smiled, relieved. "I don't remember that."

The next thing he knew, he had an armful of crying girl. He awkwardly put an arm around her. "It's okay," he said, looking to Flitwick for help.

He pried her off him, admonishing, "Let him breathe, Miss Weasley."

Harry stared at Sam, face pale. "You died for this," he said.

"I'm a _hunter,_ Harry. I'll die for anyone."

"And we _will_ talk about that," Snape said firmly. "For now, let's get you to Pomfrey. Can you walk?"

Snape and Harry each grabbed an arm to help him to his feet. His injured leg buckled under him, and Snape's hand came up to his chest to keep him from falling forward.

"Right," Flitwick squeaked. "Let's go, shall we?"

"Potter, you're closer to his height," Snape said, carefully disentangling himself. He relit his wand, as did Flitwick. He stooped to pick up Sam's wand, which he tucked into his sleeve.

They made the journey back to the entrance silently but for Ginny's sobs. Partway through, Snape and Flitwick both shot off bolts of silver light to Pomfrey and McGonagall, telling them to meet the five of them in the hospital wing.

Sam barely noticed. He was floating, wrapped in cotton, mind blissfully blank. Even when Flitwick charmed a section of the floor to carry them back up to the bathroom, he just accepted it, riding the endorphin high. He wasn't full cognizant of what was happening around him until someone forced a foul-tasting potion down his throat, at which point he came back to full awareness with a jerk to find he was sitting on a bed in the hospital wing. At some point, a middle-aged redhead couple had arrived. From the way they were hugging Ginny, who was still crying, Sam would bet they were her parents.

Dumbledore was there, too, as was McGonagall. Both were regarding Sam thoughtfully.

"I think," Dumbledore said, "we had better have the full story."

Harry started, telling them about the voice he'd been hearing, about the way he and Ron and Hermione had been trying to figure it out, and then Sinistra had come to get him so that he could open the Chamber and they could enter. Sam spoke for a little bit, telling them how he'd figured out where the entrance to the Chamber was and what the creature was. "I was an idiot," Sam admitted. "I came across basilisk back in November, but I didn't know it could Petrify as well as kill until this morning."

"You're not an idiot," McGonagall said tartly. "What happened after you went into the bathroom?"

Snape took over the narration. When he got to the point where Sam killed the basilisk but was pinned by a fang for his efforts, he hesitated. "Filius put on a tourniquet, and I tried to suction the poison out of him. I had several general healing potions on me, which I gave him, and performed a Healing Charm on the wound itself before a Resuscitation Charm. The poison had not yet reached his heart, or he would be dead now."

Sam, thinking of the man who had called him an abomination, shifted but did not otherwise react.

"I stabbed the diary with a basilisk fang." He handed a black book to Dumbledore, who examined it carefully. "Miss Weasley came out of the spell."

"I'm s- sorry," Ginny sobbed. "I d- didn't know."

"Lord Voldemort himself enchanted this book, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said kindly. "He has hoodwinked wizards far older and wiser than you. There will be no punishment. This has been a terrible ordeal for you, but no lasting harm has been done. The Mandrakes will be ready for harvest in two months, and then all will be back to normal."

"What's the official story?" Sam asked.

"Story?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Ah." Dumbledore pressed his lips together. "Mister Winchester and Miss Weasley were both taken into the Chamber for reasons unknown, where they each played a part in destroying the basilisk. Mister Winchester destroyed the eyes, and Miss Weasley destroyed the diary through which Voldemort was acting. Professors Flitwick and Snape descended to the Chamber, using Harry to get inside. There they found the diary, the students, the basilisk, and a projection of Lord Voldemort. Mister Winchester and Miss Weasley were both harmed in the attack, but will recuperate given a night of rest. There will be a feast tomorrow night to celebrate this chapter of Hogwarts history closing. Miss Weasley, Mister Winchester, and Harry will be given Special Awards for Services to the School. And let's see - I think - one hundred points to Gryffindor and two hundred to Slytherin for your contributions."

Sam blinked, surprised and wishing for the cotton to return. His head suddenly felt ready to burst, and he was getting flashes of color on the outside of his vision. He rubbed his temples, wishing for a pain potion, and saw, clear as day, a werewolf with its claws extended, ready to gouge out Lianne's heart.

He shook the vision off and forced himself to focus on Dumbledore, who was standing. "I'd like a word with Harry," he said. Harry followed him out.

Pomfrey chose that moment to bustle over with two bottles. She handed one to Sam and one to Ginny. "Pain and Calming Potions," she said briskly. "And don't give me that look, Winchester, I can see that you hurt."

Sam flicked the cap off the bottle and drank it, gagging a little on the rancid taste. Across from him, Ginny was doing the same.

"I should reassure my Slytherins," Snape said. "Filius? Minerva?"

The three of them left, leaving Sam alone with the Weasleys.

"I don't get it," Mr. Weasley said abruptly, staring at Sam.

"Get what?" Sam asked.

"You saved our Ginny. But you’re a Slytherin."

"I'm also a hunter," Sam said gently. "It's not in me to sit by while people get hurt."

"You're a hunter?" Mrs. Weasley asked fearfully, tensing and fingering her wand.

"I thought you knew," Sam said bleakly. "Please don't spread that around. The only reason the other students haven't killed me for it is because they don't know. Well, Ron, Harry, and Hermione do, and now Ginny does."

"How does Ron know?" Mr. Weasley asked suspiciously.

"I killed a troll for them last Halloween," Sam said. "Ginny's your youngest, right? Because so far, I've almost died twice saving your kids."

Ginny giggled at that, and Sam smiled at her. "Loved every second of it," he reassured her.

Pomfrey came over with a capful of liquid. "There's a hole right through your tibia," she said briskly. "I healed around it, but you'll need to take Skele-Gro to fill in the bone." She handed him the cap and he knocked it back. It burned like a shot of whiskey and made his eyes water just as much.

She took the cap back and screwed it onto a bottle. "There will be some pain," she began, but was cut off when the door banged open and the second-year Slytherins came rushing in. Hot on their heels were the rest of the Weasley clan and Harry Potter.

"Sam!" Millie said, throwing her arms around him.

"Hey, Millie," Sam said, hugging her back. Theo grabbed his other side, and Sam smiled. "I'm fine, Theo."

"I know," he said, voice muffled. Sam hugged them both tighter, not wanting to let either of them go.

Pansy cleared her throat and said, "I brought a deck of Exploding Snap. Wanna play a few games?"

Sam gave them a heavily-edited version of events while they played, though he felt free to tell them about his part killing the basilisk. Flitwick and Snape had dueled with the apparition until Ginny could destroy its source, he claimed. The Weasleys hung on to his every word, too, though only Ginny and her parents knew the real story.

He was released the next morning, as was Ginny. Harry, the Weasleys, and most of the second-year Slytherins walked to the Great Hall in a cluster. "Lucius Malfoy's been sacked from governorship," the Weasley prefect told them all. "Caught threatening their families."

"Maybe Draco will calm down some," Sam said.

Blaise snorted. "That boy's ego would fill the Great Hall if he ever let it out of his head."

The twins looked like Christmas had come early. They separated at the doors to the Great Hall, going to their respective tables for breakfast. Theo had told him that Dumbledore made an announcement at dinner about what happened, and so Sam wasn't surprised to see heads craning around to follow him, Ginny, and Harry to the tables.

Over the next weeks, Sam's friends were clearly doing their best to insulate him from anything negative. To his surprise, he also heard more than one Weasley ripping somebody to shreds in his defense. Maybe saving the youngest of them had created a sort of goodwill. Ginny actually crossed the Hall to talk to him one day, and none of his friends said anything, instead making room for her in their midst. The older Slytherins eyed her distrustfully, but none of them said anything.

An odd sort of peace ruled in Potions class. Nobody said anything, but the atmosphere was palpably lighter. The Gryffindors were less willing to put up with Draco being rude, Snape was more willing to turn a blind eye to them telling Draco off (with the exception of Harry, whom he seemed to truly hate), and the Slytherins were more likely to tell Draco to knock it off when he got truly obnoxious. Sam couldn't get Snape's desperation out of his head and struggled to reconcile what he knew was real concern with the overwhelming hatred the man had for a child his own age.

Lockhart had disappeared, and so they had no Defense class. They spent their time playing games or doing homework for other classes. Two days after he was released from the hospital wing, Sam wrote to Lianne and Christina to tell them what had happened.

Sam turned thirteen. As it had in years past, his birthday went by without fanfare or celebration.

Three days before exams, the Mandrake Restorative Draught was prepared and given to those who had been Petrified. Hermione hugged Harry, Ron, and Sam when she got out. More than one of the basilisk's victims thanked him, some more comfortably than others, when they heard what had happened and the role Sam had played.

Sam passed the exams with flying colors, though he couldn't remember them later. Gryffindor and Slytherin were neck and neck for the House Cup; Gryffindor squeaked out a win by five points, even with the two hundred Sam had won for them by dying.

And then it was time to pack and leave for the train. Sam patted the thestral that pulled the carriage to take him down to the station, and then he got off the train and went back to Muggle London. Lianne and Christina met him there, and they congratulated him on the basilisk and told him how proud they were that he'd killed one.

And so the summer began.


End file.
